Of a Fallen Knight
by Stokely
Summary: Lancelot Fic. Someone from his past arrives, and suddenly he is torn between confessing his true feelings for Guinevere and admitting there might be someone else for him. Character IS from the movie.
1. Loveless Sarmatian

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: My first thought was to call this "the Last Sarmatian" but I thought people might start throwing furniture, so I'm still looking for a name. SUGGESTIONS ARE WELCOME! Reviewing is great too!  
  
This is a Lancelot romance. Its half OC, half movie character… read the summary to understand how that is possible. It's got some Guinevere angst thrown in for good effect. Basically just an excuse to write about an Ioan Gruffudd character.  
  
Rated: R… Hard R for later chapters.  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own a bloody thing.   
  
Summary: I remember in the movie, at the beginning when Lancelot is doing his thing and narrating us up something nasty, that there was a little girl who gave him a necklace before he left to become a knight. All my friends say that was his sister… but I'm supposing it wasn't. So that's the idea I'm rolling with. No likey, don't read…ey…  
  
P.S. Finnabhair is pronounced Finn-a-vere. Like Guinevere… but … not…  
  
Hats Off, Mickey  
  
His dark eyes swept the large rounded table, taking in the chaos that surrounded him. He sipped at his goblet of wine, and watched as Bors hoisted young William, formerly known as number four, onto his large knee.   
  
Gwain was busy telling a story, which one he could not guess, since he was a fountain of lengthy tales, some true, but most false. He grasped the waists of the women he had on each knee, as they giggled and groped at his chest.  
  
Galahad, for once not moody and withdrawn, was sipping at the lips of some brown haired wench, who was replying eagerly much to his satisfaction.  
  
As Lancelot took in those who surrounded him, his eyes not remaining too long on any wench - for they had all become just that, a wench and nothing more – his eyes finally lingered to the one place they could never stray from for very long. To a most prized possession. Arthur's most prized possession.  
  
Guinevere's eyes fluttered as she and Arthur stared deep into each other's countenances, and Lancelot saw with some frustration, a conversation passing between them. An intimate conversation, no words, no sound, just eyes. And it pained him that he could not understand, nor would ever be part of that conversation.  
  
She smiled at her king and husband discreetly, and dragged one long elegant finger down his jaw, which made not only Arthur, but Lancelot swallow hard. Her dark hair hung loose to her shoulders, browns waves that made any man itch to touch. Her dark eyes met Arthur's sea green ones, and the two clasped each other's hands and left the table.  
  
Lancelot could not stay any longer.  
  
The chair scraped harshly against the floor as he stood and left the room. No one even glanced up.  
  
He breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the countryside. The smell of wet grass, mud and clover filled him, and for a moment, Lancelot felt at peace. It did not happen often, while his mind was plagued with thoughts of losing his closest friend and the only woman who still stood as a woman in his mind.   
  
"Am I not allowed a love all my own?" he whispered to the wind. No one heard him. Even if someone had, who could help?  
  
He leaned against the stony wall of the fortress where they're greatest war to date had been fought, against the Saxons. He'd almost lost his life. Some days… he wished that he had. The cool stone brought no comfort to the fallen knight, as he stared up at the sky which had become clouded and stained in pink and orange. He wondered what home would feel like. What it would be like to simply leave Arthur, the knights and Guinevere behind and go home to the only place that had brought him happiness.  
  
A sudden harsh voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he heard the scraping of metal against stone. His dark eyebrows knitted together as he walked toward the large heavy doorway that protected the walls of the outpost from being breeched. The doors were open just large enough for a person to squeeze through, and as Lancelot slipped through, he saw where the noises had come from.  
  
One of the guards on duty had drawn his sword and was pressing a cloaked traveler against the outer wall. As Lancelot approached he saw it was Deter, a soldier who had a tendency to take what he wanted whenever he pleased. His intentions never seemed honorable. He once attempted to kill a young girl for refusing his advances and though Lancelot had told Arthur, he still hadn't been exiled.   
  
"Who goes there?" Lancelot asked, pretending he hadn't recognized Deter. He looked momentarily surprised by the intrusion, but soon Deter's large rounded face became a deep scarlet and he took on a fierce look.  
  
"Nothing to bother you with, Knight." He said the title with dripping disdain, baring his teeth like an animal. The cloaked traveler whimpered, and Lancelot could tell it was a woman.   
  
"Have you nothing better to do than bully those who cannot defend themselves?" Lancelot asked coolly, gripping his dagger just to show Deter that he was not intimidated. Deter snorted. "Unhand her, so that I may escort her inside."  
  
"She may be a spy." Deter said, his grip on a thin bony wrist tightening.   
  
"That is a far reach. She is no spy." He paused. "Unhand her or I will be forced to strike that hand off." His voice was firm, and Deter's fierce demeanor wavered. He gave one last grunt and pushed the traveler toward Lancelot, who caught her, his glare not moving from Deter until he had skulked away.  
  
The woman clung to him like a bur, probably afraid that Deter would come back. One of her arms was wrapped firmly around his waist, the other tucked under her, her hand on his chest. Her labored breathing told him perhaps she had been crying and Lancelot looked down onto the top of her head.  
  
"Hush now. Don't cry. He is gone, and you are safe." He soothed, his rough hand coming up to the side of her head. Then suddenly there was silence.  
  
Her hand was grasping his wooden necklace, the one that had been given to him at the age of fifteen, when he'd first begun his work for Rome.   
  
"Where? Where did you get this?" Came a breathy voice. Lancelot frowned as the little woman pushed just far enough away to look at the wooden wolf.  
  
"It is from my home." Was the simple answer. But the cloaked figure shook its head, and before Lancelot could inquire why, the necklace had been ripped from his neck and the traveler was running away with it. "STOP!" He yelled as he took off after her. "LITTLE THIEF!"   
  
She moved quickly, lithely, and she didn't seem as though she were going to stop. So he had to improvise. Stopping for only a second, Lancelot grabbed a long branch that had been used to build a fire and flung it out after the little thief. It caught her in the knees and she fell down hard on the grass. He wasted no time sprinting toward her, and within mere seconds he was above her, turning her over.  
  
"NO!" she cried hoarsely. "You stole it from him! You took it from him!" Lancelot ground his teeth as he forced her over onto her side and grabbed her hood, pulling it back from her face. As soon as it had fallen behind her head, sharp teeth bit down on his palm and he yelped in pain. He fell down onto her, throwing his whole weight onto her hips so that she could not squirm away, and pinned her hands down onto the ground.  
  
They were both panting and gasping for air, and this is when each first got to see the other's face.  
  
Her face was pale; her eyes were wide and green like the leaves of the forest. She wore dark black chalk around the lids of her eyes, making them shockingly large as they took in his own appearance. Her hair was the color of hay, long and wavy. Her lush pink lips were open, as she took deep breathes. And then she said the most shocking thing:  
  
"Lancelot?" 


	2. Sick and Jealous

This is a Lancelot romance. Its half OC, half movie character… read the summary to understand how that is possible. It's got some Guinevere angst thrown in for good effect. Basically just an excuse to write about an Ioan Gruffudd character.  
  
Rated: R… Hard R for later chapters.  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own a bloody thing.   
  
Still waiting for any suggestions for a better title... HINT HINT  
  
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He blinked. She seemed as surprised by him, and while transfixed with her face, he'd loosened his grip on her left wrist. Her left hand came up to trail down his angled cheek, a fond, affectionate gesture which caught him off guard. Then a wide smile broke over her face and suddenly she had crushed herself to him, her arm wrapping around his shoulder.  
  
"It is you. I... we thought you were dead!" She withdrew from him, visibly shaking. "But I always thought… you were too strong to fall…" She was half sobbing, half laughing, her green eyes becoming watery. "You've grown up so much…so well…"  
  
"Finn?" He asked, as his own large rough hand came up to rest on the underside of her jaw. She smiled and nodded. Finnabhair. This was the little girl he'd once play fought with in their old village in the mountains. The girl who'd been so devastated to see him leave. The one who'd made the necklace…  
  
"I missed you… so damn much…" She said, wiping away a stray tear. She'd been no more than six when he'd left, a small ratty little girl who he thought of more as a pest than as a friend. And now, here she was, older and more beautiful than any Sarmatian woman he'd ever known. Suddenly he felt a fist collide with his bicep.  
  
"Ow!" he exclaimed as he massaged his arm.  
  
"Why the hell did you never come home?" She asked her face now grave and a bit annoyed. "We all waited for you to come back. When you didn't…" She trailed off, another tear sliding down her cheek. "We thought the worst had happened."  
  
"I had duties to fulfill here." He answered lamely as he stood and helped her up. He should have gone home. He should have gone home to greet this beautiful creature who seemed so distraught over him. But she was twenty one, well past the age most girls married.   
  
She was probably wedded to some handsome war hero who'd come home to the small village of surviving Samatians. They probably had three or four charming children, a warm inviting home… the very thought of all this made him sick, jealous and long for the life that could have been his.  
  
"Duties?" She repeated, though he could tell by the look on her face she was not satisfied with his answer.  
  
"How are ma and da?" He asked, quickly changing the subject. Suddenly Finn grew very still and her face paled even more. Lancelot's face was blank, emotionless. "They are gone then."  
  
"Yes." Was the meek reply. "Your da passed away three winters ago. Your ma only lasted a fort night, before she died as well." Her voice was sad. He wished he could feel the same. Absence was meant to make the heart grow fonder, and yet he could barely remember his father's face, or his mother's voice.  
  
"How?" he asked, trying to inject concern into his voice.  
  
"He got sick real quick. He'd been out fishing too long by the springs." She smoothed her hair, though it didn't do much. "Your ma fell ill not three weeks later. They said she just got sick, but I know it was because of a broken heart."  
  
Lancelot winced at the empathy in her voice. She shrugged.  
  
"I don't expect you to break down into sobs." She said as if reading his mind. "You've been gone too many years for that." Fifteen years. Guilt stabbed at his chest. It shouldn't have mattered if he'd been gone a lifetime. He should have felt something.  
  
"And how are you faring?" he asked giving her a sideways glance. She met his eyes and gave a small smile.  
  
"The crops aren't faring half as well as me, and the winter was hard on the elders-"  
  
"What are you doin' here Finney?" he interrupted, turning sharply to face her. She blinked up at him, her mouth parted from being cut off mid sentence.  
  
"I… Doing here?"  
  
"It's a fair ways from home to be sure." Lancelot said as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Through Woad country. Rogue Saxons have been pillaging coastal villages. Why would you risk the journey?"  
  
Finn stood staring at him, and she didn't hasten to answer either. This made Lancelot wary of an answer, but he'd learned that to plow through the worst of things meant they'd be over all the sooner.  
  
"Finn. Is something wrong?" he pressed, and she lowered her eyes as her eyebrows creased.  
  
"Something is wrong." She finally said. "Terribly wrong." She looked up, meeting his eyes again, and he could see fear and agony welling in those giant eyes.  
  
"What? Tell me what is wrong?" he said, placing a hand on each shoulder. She bit her lip and let out a breath neither had been aware she'd been holding.  
  
"It's the village." She said unevenly, as though she were having difficulty breathing. "It's…" She hiccoughed.   
  
"What?" he asked with more urgency.  
  
"It's gone." 


	3. Moment of Peace

This is a Lancelot romance. Its half OC, half movie character… read the summary to understand how that is possible. It's got some Guinevere angst thrown in for good effect. Basically just an excuse to write about an Ioan Gruffudd character.  
  
Rated: R… Hard R for later chapters.  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own a bloody thing.   
  
Thanks for the reviews! Very helpful, hope I've corrected most errors, apologise if not! Shorty 51 you're not pathetic, keep on giving me ideas, I could really use the help!  
  
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"The village is gone?" he asked, something deep and disturbing swirling in the pit of his stomach. She nodded, and let out another harsh breath, her chest constricting, leaving a dull ache.  
  
"The Saxons…" tears began to spill down her cheeks. "…they came with their axes…" Lancelot felt his throat tighten. "…and with their fire…" it was all coming out in tormented waves. "…and it's all gone…"  
  
"Why didn't you tell me…?" he couldn't finish. He felt as if he wanted to wretch.  
  
"I came to see the King and his knights, to beg for their help…" she wiped away her tears, the stains in her cheeks remaining. "…and then that horrible, horrible man…" her voice was raw, scraping. "…and I was just so happy to see you, I… it was like I was home again… and everything was…" She closed her eyes, ashamed that she had gall to momentarily forget her people's plight.   
  
She shook, partially because a cold wind had begun to cut through her ragged shawl, partly because all she wanted to do was collapse into the broken pile she knew she'd become.  
  
Lancelot, who'd been wrapped up in thoughts and images of their home being licked by red flames, and their families being turned to smoke and ash, finally snapped back to reality and pulled her close to him, and began leading her to the heavy doors he'd slipped through.  
  
He made no effort to comfort her with words, just held her close to him. She pulled her hood back up and leaned as far as she could into his embrace. She wanted to melt into him like the needy, lonesome little girl she was.   
  
She'd traveled three months to get to Arthur and his knights. She'd begun her journey with a horse, two companions and food. She'd lost one companion to the Woads, her second companion lost himself in a forest never to be seen again, her horse was attacked by a pack of wild dogs in the night, and all her food had been rationed and eaten one month prior to her arrival.   
  
Her eyelids drooped as Lancelot steered her into a long hallway. It was dark and dingy, but it was also warm and dry. He guided her toward a doorway, an opaque blue veil hung in place of a door. He swept it aside and they entered.  
  
The soft candle light made the shadows dance across the taupe walls. A modest bed sat in the corner to the left, a sheer blue veil draping across it, making it seem more lavish than it was. There was a chair in the corner, by a table, books scattered across it. Twin swords were propped in the corner, glinting threateningly. She remembered when they're swords had been made from wood, dull and harmless. It was then that Finn realized just how much Lancelot must have changed.  
  
"You must be exhausted." He said as he watched her from her left side. She did not bother to look at him, simply nodded and walked toward the bed. "You will tell me everything tomorrow." It wasn't a question. He knew he had a right to know. As did she.  
  
"I will." She said, clasping her mouth as a yawn escaped. "Where will I sleep?"  
  
"In the bed." He answered as he walked to one of the windows along the wall and closed the shutter.   
  
"And where will you sleep?" she asked as she pulled her hood down and began to unwind her shawl from her shoulders. He began shutting the second window.  
  
"I will find no peace tonight." He answered gravely. "Despite your early prediction Finney, home still means something to me… meant… something to me." His hands braced against the ledge.  
  
"I never meant… I know you …" she closed her eyes. Why was it so hard to tell him that she knew? "You've always meant something to us." He turned at this, to look at her sitting at the edge of his bed, her ratty shawl thrown onto the chair. She wore a frayed blue tunic, with sleeves that reached her fingers, and the hem reached mid thigh. It was scant for her, and she must have been frozen. It had a V shaped neck line with black embroidery as the trim.   
  
"That tunic-"  
  
"It was yours." She finished a small smile on her face. "After you left, your da burned your wooden swords and I wanted something to remember you by." She tugged at the sleeves.  
  
"It's worn." He said moving forward to kneel at her side. He took the sleeve in his hand and felt the soft material. It felt like the first day he'd gotten it, on his thirteenth birthday. "You wear it a lot?" He asked looking up at her.  
  
Her smile disappeared, and her face became soft. "All the time." He smiled at that, and for a moment, he felt as if he might have been able to sleep again. He stood quickly, banishing the feeling, as if it would be like wronging his village.  
  
Finn frowned. She'd thought for a moment that perhaps he could rest. She sighed and raised her right foot, pulling off one light boot. Soon the other followed it, propped next to her shawl.   
  
She looked up, and watched him stand with a book in one hand. His hip was jutted out to the right, his long lithe figure illuminated by the dimly glowing candles behind him on the table.   
  
"Come here." She said her voice soft and coaxing. He turned, placing the book down on the table, and came to stand in front of her as if hypnotized by her voice. "There is enough room for two. Come and lay down. Perhaps you will slumber after all." He looked uneasy with this request and was about to protest, but Finn shook her head and scooted over.   
  
He hesitated, before letting out a long sigh. Finn smiled. She knew she'd won.  
  
He unbuckled his brown leather belt and threw it on the table. Then he sat down on his side and began to wrestle with his boots. Finn peeled back the scratchy wool blankets and pulled them over herself. When she'd become comfortable, she looked back to Lancelot, who pulled his tunic up over his head and tossed it over to his belt.  
  
He of course looked NOTHING like he had when they were younger. At least not in terms of body. He'd become broad in the shoulders, small hips, flat panes of muscle all along his chest and abdomen. She frowned momentarily when she saw scars and other markings from the battles he'd waged the years he'd been gone, but faster than she could muse on them, he'd covered them with the blanket.  
  
He had his father's face, a younger face. He looked tired, stretched…like he'd lived too long with war and blood. His hair was rumbled, curly, just as it had been when he was a boy. Obviously, the facial hair was not present in their younger years, but it suited him well. His deep chocolate eyes practically made her melt, just as they had when they were children. She chided herself for thinking such things, for being so foolish as to still have feelings for a man she now barely knew.  
  
He let out a sigh as he molded to his bed.  
  
"You remember when we were little?" she whispered, aware that he'd been conscious of her detailed gaze.  
  
"I could never forget a pest like you." He teased, receiving a light smack on the chest.  
  
"Did you ever think about me…? When you left?" Silence filled the air. He could tell she was hopeful and he tried to think of something to say to comfort her.  
  
"I confess, those times were rare." He shifted so that he was facing her. "Though if I had known you would grow up to look as you do… perhaps I would have thought of you a bit more."  
  
She laughed, a genuine laugh, which made him in turn smile. When she finished she breathed a sigh and her head lolled to the side to face him. "You had better be cautious about saying things like that to me." She warned.  
  
"Why? Will your husband have me beaten?" It was half jest, half curiosity which fueled such a question. There was a long pause in which Lancelot could actually hear Finn's quickening heartbeat.  
  
"I have no husband…yet." The candles were almost spent, so Lancelot chanced one last glance toward her before the lights went out. She looked – torn – as if she needed to decide something and couldn't and it was slowly drowning her…  
  
"That, Finney, is hard to believe." He said with a wry smile. She cocked an eyebrow at him and smirked.  
  
"Do not think that I don't know what YOU think Lancelot." He feigned innocence. "I remember your intentions where beautiful women are concerned. Just because I was in love with you when I was a tot, doesn't mean you will be enjoying me… company … anytime soon."  
  
"You were in love with me?"  
  
"I know. I really was a small fool." He laughed at that, and they lay in silence for a long time afterward, each pondering what had happened that day. Lancelot chanced a glance over at Finn, watching her porcelain face, not emotionless, but with a smile. Her lips were curved ever so slightly upward, her long eyelashes brushing her cheeks. Boy did he feel like a prize idiot. He should have gone home. Who would've missed him more than Finn? No one.  
  
While in his reverie, he didn't immediately realize Finn scooting closer to him, until he felt her arm gently snake over his abdomen. He looked down, a little wide eyed, as he felt the warmth of her body against his side. But she was still asleep. Had she done it purposely? As she breathed lightly onto his bare shoulder, as he breathed deeply her scent of pine and lilac, his eyelids began to droop and he suddenly found it very hard to keep from falling to sleep.  
  
As the night owl began its haunting song, Finn squinted into the darkness, and saw the even rise and fall of Lancelot's chest. A smile flitted across her face when she felt his hand clench her forearm in his sleep. She snuggled back into his side with one thought keeping her smiling all through the night.  
  
He'd found peace, if only for one night. 


	4. Unheard of Confessions

This is a Lancelot romance. Its half OC, half movie character… read the summary to understand how that is possible. It's got some Guinevere angst thrown in for good effect. Basically just an excuse to write about an Ioan Gruffudd character.  
  
Rated: R… Hard R for later chapters.  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own a bloody thing.   
  
I know that in the movie, it seemed that Guinevere had little interest in Lancelot, but in the real legends they were a lot cozier than the movie depicted. So I am introducing the Guinevere element to the story. Hopefully you'll all enjoy. I promise some larger Arthur scenes in the next chapter! PROMISE!!!  
  
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The sun's rays blinded him for a moment when he first woke. The shutters had been opened, sun pouring in through the open window, making everything shimmer like gold. He exhaled deeply as he stretched his long arms up over his head. He hadn't slept so well in over a month. He fell back against his pillow, and let his head roll to the side to look at Finn, who was sleeping peacefully beside him.  
  
He could not remember the last time a woman had slept in his bed, fully clothed and still asleep the next morning. Her eyes were closed, her arms wrapped around her pillow, the blanket kicked down the bed so that it pooled at the edge.   
  
He wondered when he'd become such a pessimist who used woman as he saw fit and then disposed of them afterward.   
  
"Good morning." He looked down and his eyes met Finn's as she stretched across the bed. His eyes strayed to her creamy bare thigh, peeking out from under the short tunic. He quickly looked away, but this time his eyes lingered on her shoulder, where the tunic had been rearranged so that it was naked for his eyes alone to see.  
  
When had he become so perverse? Even one of his oldest friends was not safe from him and his sexual appetite.   
  
"You're quiet this morning." She said, watching him almost as inquiry. He opened his mouth to answer, when a soft knocking sounded from the doorway. His head snapped forward, and he hesitated, looking back to Finn. But she'd already disappeared from the bed. He searched for a fraction of a second to see where she was hiding, before the knock sounded again. He could not ignore it.  
  
"Enter." He said as he pushed back the blanket and stood. The veil was pulled back, and the person he'd least expected to be behind it stepped through.  
  
Guinevere faltered when she saw Lancelot standing in the middle of his room, wearing nothing but a pair of weathered trousers and a rather shocked expression on his face. Her eyes skimmed down his body, and she felt her face immediately flush before she turned.  
  
Lancelot merely stared after she'd turned away. She was wearing a long wine colored gown; her hair was up and away from her face, a crown of daisies weaving through it. She looked beautiful, as she always did, and the sun light merely magnified it.  
  
She looked over her shoulder, both pairs of eyes meeting before she smiled and looked away again.  
  
"Have you nothing to cover yourself with?" she asked jokingly. It was then Lancelot remembered how naked he was, and he hurriedly reached for the first thing he could find.  
  
This time when Guinevere turned, his upper body was clothed, and he was staring at her with something she could not identify. Something that made her skin catch fire. She watched him for a moment, before clearing her voice and breaking eye contact.  
  
"I came to inform you that Arthur requests your presence at the table soon."  
  
"Oh. Of course." He said, rather rushed. They exchanged looks once again before she nodded, feeling rather embarrassed by the mood of the room.  
  
"I shall see you there." She said with a smile.  
  
"Yes." He answered. The air was tense, and she gave one last look before turning and sweeping through the door, the tail of her skirt chasing after her. He let out a long breath as he dragged a hand through his hair, before he fell across the bed.  
  
"So." He practically jumped out of his skin at the small voice. He'd forgotten that he wasn't alone in the room. He crawled across the bed and looked over the side that was only a few feet from the wall. Finn was leaning against the side of the bed, biting her lip, her eyes downcast. "Is she your…" her voice was hesitant and he felt a smile break across his face at her insecurity. "Your lover." She finally ground out, before looking up at him.  
  
He let out a long sigh and folded his hands at the edge of the bed, placing his chin down on top of them. "No." he answered wistfully. "She is my captain's…my friend's."  
  
"You wish her to be yours?" she'd gone back to looking at the wall, and Lancelot frowned. Why was she so opposed to him being attracted to a woman?  
  
"Perhaps." He answered. Suddenly Finn's demeanor changed drastically.  
  
"Good." She said harshly, standing up from the ground and turning on him like a monster unleashed. "I hope you both live the very best. And you can wish my future husband and I the same."  
  
"What husband?" he said mockingly. He knew he shouldn't bait her, but she was being rather childish. "You have none."  
  
"I do! I lied!" she stormed around the bed, toward her boots. She took a seat and began pulling them on.   
  
"Is that so?" he said turning around and sitting on the edge of his side of the bed. "His name?"  
  
"Alden." As soon as she'd said his name, she felt Lancelot's heated gaze upon hers. But she did not stop to give him time to retaliate. "You remember? He was taken same as you, to become a soldier for Rome, although as I recall, oh yes, HE CAME BACK!" she spat, as she shoved the next boot on.  
  
"And you are to be married to him?" He asked advancing toward Finn. He'd always hated Alden, since they were children. He was pig headed, competitive and he'd never treated anyone with any respect. Not even Finn.  
  
"I am." She said standing. "He asked for my hand shortly before he left on a merchant trip. He is due to stop her in another month and then we will be reunited."   
  
"I do not believe you!" he practically roared. Then suddenly she paused, looking him up and down.  
  
"Give me that!" she yelled grabbing the edge of her shawl and pulling it off of his shoulders. She pushed past him, to the table, though before she'd gotten three steps away, Lancelot had grabbed her arm and was turning her to face him.  
  
"Why?" he demanded. "Why did you never tell me you were to be wed, or even promised to anyone?"  
  
"Because!" she yelled back, already sick of his handsome face and strong character. "I had never given up hope in you!"  
  
There was a ringing silence that filled the room after she'd said this. She was breathing hard, pent up rage breathing from every pore, her deepest, darkest secret revealed to the one person she never wished to find out. As the reality of what she'd said occurred to her, she broke away from him, blinking rapidly, not believing what had just happened.  
  
"You…" he was struck dumb by her confession. She licked her lips, looked into his eyes and shook her head, smiling bitterly.  
  
"Forget. Forget it all. I'm stupid. I'm foolish and… and stupid. I had fallen in love with you, without knowing you. It was fool-hardy of me. I-I must go see Arthur and then … leave." She cast one more longing look in his direction before turning and sprinting out of the room.  
  
Lancelot took off shortly after her, running after her. "FINN!" he called, though she would not stop. "FINN, STOP!" he finally caught up with her, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her back to him. She struggled half-heartedly, too upset with herself to really try to get away.  
  
"Leave me be." She said though it sounded more like a sob. He chuckled lightly, his breath on her neck, making her hair stand on end.  
  
"We must stop meeting this way." He said as he turned her to face him, one hand coming up to cup her cheek. "You cannot leave little one. You must stay here for your safety."  
  
"I can't." she breathed, scolding herself for seeming so weak. "I cannot stay here while you are here. While she…" she bit her lip as she recounted the way he'd talked to her, looked at her. She finally looked up into his gaze. "We weren't meant to be, Lancelot. I now know that." He gave a small shake of the head.  
  
"Finn-"  
  
"You will always see me as a little girl, someone who needs protection…even from yourself." She brought a soft hand up to the side of his face and let it trail down his jaw, his neck, his chest. He placed his hand over hers, on his heart, neither confirming nor denying her statement.  
  
"Where will you go?" he argued, not knowing what else to say. "There is no other place for you to go…you cannot go back the way you came, I will not let you…"  
  
"I will meet my Alden at the gates of Wexford outpost." He winced at the title … my Alden. "You will go back to the life you've always led, as a killer, a lover, as a knight." She smiled sadly. "I had always hoped to be your refuge from that life. Now I see, that can never be."   
  
He looked down at her face, not ready to give up, not ready to surrender what small, strange magnificent relationship they may have. He'd known her all of a day, and he did not want it to end yet. He opened his mouth to speak-  
  
"I am telling you Bors! It is all about the axe! Little William must learn to control such a weapon if he wishes to succeed in battle!" Gawain argued, as the three knights rounded the corner, into the hallway.   
  
Finn took a step backward, retracting her hand from his, returning her gaze to the floor. He wanted to step right back in front of her but suddenly a large hand clapped him on the back.  
  
"Lancelot. Put a shirt on for god's sake, or you'll scare the children." Bors barked, the other two knight snickering as they passed him. But Galahad halted in front of Finn.  
  
"M'lady, is there anything you be needing, that'd bring you all the way into the knight's quarters?" he asked, and Lancelot felt heat rush through his veins when he saw the way Galahad's blue eyes lingered on the curve of her neck.  
  
"I was hoping I could speak with King Arthur." She said smiling at Galahad, acting as though she did not know Lancelot, which furthered the jealousy that coursed through his veins.  
  
"Perhaps we should escort the young lady." Gawain said, before Galahad offered her his arm. She smiled.  
  
"Thank you kind knights." She said taking the offered arm. The four walked off down the hall, leaving Lancelot feeling ice cold despite his boiling feelings of envy. 


	5. Sparks of Desire

Chapter 5  
  
Rated: R… Hard R for later chapters.  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own a bloody thing.   
  
Okay, you know how I rated this thing R. Here's the reason. (Not a Hard R yet. Boy are you all in trouble.)  
  
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Arthur sat at the empty round table, his chin resting on his right hand as he stared at the empty goblet that sat in front of him. He'd met with Lady Finnabhair and her story had chipped at his heart. She cared so much for her village that she'd braved Woad country all alone to bring them aid.  
  
He wanted to be as strong as she was. He wanted to be as dedicated to Briton as its common folk were. He prayed to the Lord that he could unite all of Briton and care for everyone. When he'd heard what had been done to the Sarmatian village, he'd felt bile rise up in his throat. It was too similar to his own town's destruction, and had been all too vivid in his mind.  
  
"Arthur…?" He broke from his trance and his eyes immediately connected with those of Guinevere. She was standing directly opposite of him, her eyes were full of concern, and he tried to force a smile. She was not at all fooled.  
  
"Come here my love." He said, offering her his outstretched hand. She placed two fingers along the glassy wood of the table and traced it as she walked slowly toward her husband. As she came to his side, he pushed his chair back, and she sat down on his lap, her right leg propping against the arm rest. She weaved her arms around his neck and nuzzled his cheek.  
  
"What is it that bothers you so my love?" she asked, continuing to cuddle him. She loved him. More than anything. She admired him, yes, very much. She respected him, she adored him, she lusted for him, she would do anything for him.  
  
"There is need for aid at a pillaged Sarmatian town." He said with a heavy sigh. "And I gave my word that I would help in any way I could." She studied him.  
  
"Will you be leaving soon?" she asked, as she played with the collar of his tunic. He nodded. "Will you be taking Lancelot and the knights as well?" he nodded again. "Then I am to come too."  
  
"Someone must stay and care for the outpost." He said gently, staring intently at her lips.  
  
"I will not leave your side. Never." She said bringing her hand up to his cheek, punctuating her words with a soft kiss.   
  
"Who will care for the people here?" he asked, as he lightly stroked her back, his fingers softly dancing down her spine.   
  
"Merlin." She said simply. "He is as good a ruler as I, or any other man for that matter." Arthur hesitated a moment, before nodding.   
  
"Where would I be without my queen?" he asked, a genuine smile playing his lips. She grinned at him impishly.  
  
"Let us pray that we never know the answer." She said leaning her forehead against his. He let his hand trail up her neck, and gently pull her lips down to his in a long kiss. Guinevere broke away finally. "Let us retire for the night. I do not wish Bors to happen upon us and gawk as he did last time." Arthur chuckled deeply, before lifting his wife up in his arms and carrying her out of the room, neither looking away from each other for even a second.  
  
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Lancelot sat in the darkening room alone, his knuckles white as he clenched the side of the table which he was sitting on. A book was propped open in his hand, and though he stared at the ornate black letters, his mind was far away. On two women.  
  
The argument with Finn was a fresh wound, more painful than almost any he'd had on that battlefield. He knew that the flirt within himself would always crave Guinevere… she was of course a lost cause which made him want her all the more. But Finn, she was…he did not know what she was. But the very thought of any other man, be it Galahad or Alden, enjoying her company in even the most innocent way made him see red.  
  
It had been a full day since he'd seen her. She'd holed herself up with Arthur in his chambers, pleading with him he supposed to come to the aid of her people, who were apparently camped in a nearby forest, too afraid to return home. He hadn't heard any of this directly from her, unlike she'd promised. He had to hear it all from Gawain, who'd stood at the door listening.  
  
"She sounded deeply distressed." Gawain said as he finished his story. Lancelot had nodded, before inquiring where she'd gone after their meeting. Gawain had shrugged.  
  
"With Galahad I suppose." He must have noticed the flash of anger in Lancelot's eyes after he'd said this. "Don't blame Galahad for making a conquest you sorely desire to make your own." Lancelot jaw ticked at the audacity of the remark, but before he had time to verbally attack his comrade, he'd already walked away.  
  
And now he sat in his room, plagued with images of Galahad and Finn lying naked together in bed, exchanging sweet words that should have been his.  
  
"Thank you Galahad." He heard a quiet voice, his eyes instantly straying from the book and up to the doorway. Two shadows fell under the veil, and Lancelot mentally dared Galahad to try anything with Finn.  
  
"It was a pleasure, m'lady." He answered, his boyishness working its own strange charm. "You are sure you wish me to leave you by Lancelot's quarters?" he sounded slightly deflated by her decision, which made Lancelot smirk momentarily. He heard her soft chuckle, and the confident smile faded.  
  
"I am sure. And I've told you, Galahad, do not refer to me as m'lady." She lightly scolded. He laughed, and Lancelot felt his stomach lurch slightly.  
  
"Yes of course, dear Finn. Well I will say good night now." With that, one of the shadows moved away, leaving one to stand hesitantly outside for a few moments. Then Finn swept the veil aside and strode into the room, head high, eyes directed to the bed, ignoring Lancelot's menacing presence.   
  
"Where have you been?" he asked, his voice carrying a sharp edge. She kicked off her boots, pulled her shawl from her shoulders, ignoring his question, her mouth set, and her eyes cold. The book snapped shut in his hand, and he slammed it against the table, standing and walking toward her. "Do not disrespect me. Where were you?"  
  
"And why should I give you the privilege of knowing where I was, when you never returned the favor?" it was a cutting remark, and they both glared into each other's eyes. But she broke eye contact and began folding her shawl. "I saw Arthur. I walked with Galahad."  
  
"And…" he urged her to continue. When she said nothing, he suspected the worst. "You've already betrayed your husband, haven't you?" She turned, her eyes angry.  
  
"Firstly, I have no husband yet! Secondly, how dare you accuse me of such a thing! Thirdly, what business is it of yours?!" she practically spat all of this out.  
  
"It is my business to be sure that you do not put yourself in harm's way." She snorted, pushing past him violently.   
  
"Because I cannot be trusted to care for myself, is that it?" She reprimanded, her hands cupping water out of the wash basin and splashing her face with it. She was filthy and hadn't been washed in nearly a week.  
  
"When you have 'rendez-vouz's with men behind your husband's back, you are causing more harm than good." He said. He knew he sounded pompous and haughty, but he was too frustrated to care. She had confessed she loved him. And then she turned and ran into the arms of one of his friends. He was well past being simply annoyed with her.  
  
"I have no husband!" she shrieked as though the information would never seep into his head. "I can do whatever I wish, be with whoever I wish until the day I am wed. And you cannot stop me!" Her temper flared like a geyser, exploding over and over.  
  
"Perhaps that is what you think." He said, tired of her juvenile rantings. He fell down onto the bed, letting out a long exasperated breath.   
  
"Get out." She ordered. His head rose at the command, one eyebrow cocked upward, his face shocked.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said, get out." She turned, hands on her waist. "I wish to bathe and I refuse to do so with you in the room." He blinked, and then growled, sitting up on the side of the bed.  
  
"This is my room. I will not leave unless I wish to." He bit out, finding her more and more irritating by the moment. She was the complete and total opposite of Guinevere. Not only in appearance, but in character. Guinevere was strong, independent, mysterious, and alluring. Finn was needy, moody, unabashed and domestic. What possibly had deluded him into thinking he was attracted to her?  
  
Finn let out her own exasperated sigh, before she gripped the hem of her tunic and pulled it up over her head, tossing it onto the table. Lancelot looked up from the ground, ready to continue to scold her for her childishness, but his words were lost before they ever took shape.  
  
She stood with her back to him, the candle light flickering over her naked back. Her skin was like ivory, milk white, and looked soft and supple. Her spine curved elegantly down the length of her back, coming to a stop at her shapely hips and round ass. Her shoulders were pulled back, full of grace and pride. Her head was tilted to the side, her hair up, long pieces falling down and skimming her beautiful skin. From the side of her he could see the curve of a plump breast, teasing him and not at all fulfilling his need to see all of her. Her legs looked longer than he remembered, just long enough to perfectly wrap around his hips…  
  
He stared wide eyed, at the woman before him. This was surely torture. Torture for not coming home and worshipping her, loving her the way that she should have been. Lancelot was sure things could not have become worse, but he was soon corrected as she began to pour cool water over herself. This was hell. Pure, lustful hell. A hell he found he didn't mind.  
  
"I can feel you staring…" she whispered, all traces of hatred erased as she continued her slow torment, water cascading down her back. He did not even attempt to answer her; he knew his voice would fail him. He'd seen so many women naked that he'd stopped differentiating. A naked woman was a naked woman. But Finn… she was beautiful, pure, and untouched.  
  
"Lancelot…" she whined and for a moment his eyes managed to drift up to meet hers, her head craned over one shoulder. Her eyes were glazed slightly, a tell-tale sign she felt exactly the same as he. "Please…"  
  
He stared into those green orbs a few moments longer before he slowly turned away. He began to take off his boots, the sound of water trickling against his floor haunting him along with her image. It took all of his will power not to turn and continue to watch her. It took even more not to grab her, pin her against his bed and… have his way with her.  
  
After freeing his feet from his boots, he took the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up over his head, throwing it across the room to land over top of Finn's tunic. She slowly turned her head to see him lying across the bed, on his side so that he could still allow her a bit of privacy. She smiled at that.  
  
When she was satisfied with how clean she was, she took an old shirt he used to dry his hands with and dried off.  
  
"Lancelot?" she asked hesitantly. He peered over his shoulder and grit his teeth when he realized she was still nude. "Do you perhaps have a shirt I could borrow…? My tunic is far too dirty and I-"  
  
"I will get you something." He cut her off, welcoming the chance to flee the room. The last thing he wanted was to stare at her heavenly body a moment longer. It was too much, too hard since he knew he would never be allowed to feel her or taste her or love her. He strode down the hall, coming to a halt in front of Gawain's room.   
  
He knocked on the wooden door. He heard faint grumblings, and a whimper that was distinctly female. He smirked when the door opened, and Gawain stood in the doorway looking menacingly at Lancelot.  
  
"This had better be good or I'll castrate you." He said in a deep voice. Lancelot would have laughed, but knowing Gawain, his statement may not have been a bluff. And he hadn't sharpened his axe in a long while…  
  
"Finn needs something clean to wear." He said crossing his arms over his chest. Gawain huffed before disappearing into the dark room. Lancelot tried to peer in, to see who he had in there, but within a moment Gawain was back. He thrust a long black shirt into Lancelot's hands, before promptly slamming the door.  
  
"Thank you." Lancelot called through the door.  
  
"Fornicate off." Was the reply. Lancelot chuckled and made his way back down the hallway toward his quarters. He entered, and saw that Finn was sitting in bed, the blankets pulled up over her.   
  
"Compliments of Gawain." He said shortly, almost awkwardly as he tossed the shirt to her. She smiled and nodded, placing her arms through the sleeves and pulling it over her head. When she'd pulled it down over her legs, he finally felt that it was safe for him to join her in bed.   
  
"I-" She began as he slid down so that he was completely horizontal. "I'm sorry… again." She said, her fingers fidgeting nervously. His face remained expressionless.  
  
"It is alright." He said, not wanting to talk, just wanting to sleep. Or pretend to sleep.  
  
"No it isn't." she continued, either not aware of his wish for silence, or ignoring it. "I again was being childish. I have a tendency to do so…" When he said nothing, she continued. "Galahad and I are merely companions. He is a sweet man, but he is just a friend."  
  
She was trying desperately to ease his worries of her love for any other man.  
  
"Then I shall sleep peacefully tonight." He said sarcastically, injecting indifference into his voice. But when he looked at her face and saw her grimace at his uncaring comment, his demeanor softened. "Do not be sorry. You did nothing wrong."  
  
"And…" she continued, biting her lip as she turned on her side to face him. "I am not going to be married to Alden."   
  
It was a huge risk. She knew that Alden would have her, marry her, and they would produce many sons and daughters, live well on the money he made as a merchant.   
  
Lancelot was a knight. There was no stability what so ever in a relationship with him. He could die any day on the battlefield. And he was infamous for being a womanizer. She could not really be sure that he would not some day grow tired of her and simply leave her for another woman.  
  
He drove her insane. He was cocky, and arrogant. He knew exactly how to make her feel cornered and agitated, but he also made her laugh. He made her feel safe. He set her skin alight. And he was the only one who ever had.  
  
"You are not?" he repeated, this time looking her directly in the eye. She smiled softly and shook her head no. He paused, eyeing her suspiciously. "Why?"  
  
She felt something rise up inside of her. Perhaps it was her playfulness, but she simply smiled and shrugged. "I suppose you will have to figure that out by yourself."  
  
With that she rolled over so that she had her back to him. She thought of Alden and how he would react when she told him that she could no longer marry him. She knew it would be difficult, but she couldn't marry someone she didn't love. Some women married for security. Some did for comfort. Some as a duty. But as a little girl she'd promised she would marry for love.   
  
And that was a promise she planned to keep. 


	6. Too Soon

Chapter 6  
  
Rated: R… Hard R for later chapters.  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own a bloody thing.   
  
Still not a hard R yet. I know I'm a saucy little minx. Well this chapter certainly made be blush as I was writing it! I know most of you don't want the relationship between Finn and Lancelot to be fight/love/fight/love, but they do get into fights with each other rather easily. It's all about the personality clash, yadda yadda yadda. Anyway, they fight because they love. And... hope you enjoy. REVIEW!!!  
  
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The next few weeks passed by quickly at the outpost. Finn found that she felt very at home in the small outpost-village. She'd gotten to know the knights that Lancelot had served with very well, much to his apparent dismay.  
  
"He wishes to have you all to 'im self you see, m'dear." Bors said as he nudged her in the side, almost hard enough to knock her right over. "Our Lancelot's quite the greedy little bugger." Gawain had howled at that comment, until Lancelot had tried to smack him with one of the bar stools.   
  
They told her stories; of battles and trials that they'd come to face. Of the knights they'd lost to the crusades they'd fought so tirelessly for another country. Names like Dagonet and Pelleas, Alymere and Tristan, Bedivere and Gareth… all names she'd heard from travelers.   
  
"It's true what you've said Guinevere," she had whispered to her only female companion, "it is almost like a fairy's tale." Guinevere had smiled and gone back to her usual dinnertime routine; watching Arthur, eating and drinking, and sneaking hurried glances at Lancelot. Finn found it increasingly difficult to withstand their glances to each other over dinner, and would always excuse herself with some ridiculous excuse. And they were only becoming more and more far fetched.  
  
"What you mean your cat's gone missin'?" Bors had barked one night as she slid from her seat.   
  
"You don't even live here!" Galahad joined in, trying to keep her with them. "You don't have a cat!"   
  
"Even if she did, Bors'd probably have beaten it to a pulp and tried to make it into a stew by now." Gawain added jokingly. But she hadn't stopped to allow them to keep her. She merely shrugged and walked from the room, not chancing a look backwards.  
  
Arthur was becoming more and more taxed with pleas of help from the tribes and towns of Briton. The Saxon raids, which had seemed to be waning over the last few months, were now back full force, terrorizing the country people.  
  
"I promise you and Finnabhair that we will come to the aid of your home." Arthur had said one night at the table, and Lancelot grimaced as he looked over his friend. He seems stretched, bone-weary and tired of the constant fighting. Even more so now that every large decision seemed to rest on his shoulders alone. Lancelot was not the only one who felt sympathy for the great king. Finn felt it too. She felt many things these days that were foreign to her until then.  
  
Finn felt guilty. She'd become far too attached to this place. It had become a home for her so fast, so soon, that her head spun. She tried hard to remember the grassy knolls and the hot springs. But with each passing day a little bit of her memory of her home was chipped away to be replaced by a new one of the outpost and her knights.  
  
Meanwhile, the tension between Lancelot and Finn was becoming increasingly thick. Double entendres and flirting littered their conversations, and even the most innocent of touches – a brush on the arm, a pat on the back – had served to fuel both their imaginations of what more they could do to each other.  
  
Guinevere had not missed these interactions, and despite herself she admitted she was jealous. Jealous that perhaps Lancelot could have eyes for any other woman than her. Of course she expected him to flirt with the many girls that served the market or tavern. But this wasn't the usual flirt and romp in the sack. It was more. She could feel it.  
  
"Guinevere?" she turned sharply at the voice, "What is it my love?" Arthur asked wearily as he lay down on their bed. She'd shaken her head, told him it was nothing at all and resumed looking out her window and watching Lancelot and Finn, her hand placed gently on his forearm, the two walking together. It made her want run down to him and pull her away. This was not how it was meant to be.  
  
Finnabhair was… fine. Guinevere found her to be a good enough companion, though she did not have enough bloodlust for her liking. She was sweet and thought humorous, at least among the lads. Yet she seemed weak and self conscious. She was not beautiful. Pretty perhaps, but not beautiful. It nagged at Guinevere. Why was it he seemed to be choosing her over me?  
  
She'd known long ago they had no real future. Sexual tension had arrived in their relationship the moment they'd set eyes on each other. It was animalistic perhaps, but they weren't as civilized as they liked to lead others to believe.   
  
There had been a rare night, once every few months, where she wondered what it would feel like to be lying naked in bed with Lancelot, not Arthur. The next morning she would rise and feel ashamed of herself, looking down at the handsome sleeping face of her dearest.  
  
It was at that thought that Guinevere sighed and moved away from the window, towards their bed. She sat at the edge, her back to Arthur. And for the first time in all her life, she questioned a decision she had made. Was she truly meant to be with Arthur? If only she had a sign…  
  
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They retired to Lancelot's room, as per usual, to find Gawain leaning next to the doorway. As they approached, he looked up and suddenly a large grin spread over his face. Lancelot halted, a feeling of impending doom settling over him. Finn stopped as well, but she looked to Lancelot's face, as if to try and see why they'd stopped.  
  
"What is it…?" Lancelot asked, foreboding carrying in his tone. Finn looked to Gawain.  
  
"We leave." He said, brandishing his axe. "Tomorrow. For your home." Finn's mouth dropped open a bit. Her hopes of a rescue for her people had been fading for the past week. She'd come to accept that her life may never involve her going home, it may have meant her starting a new life there, with the knights. But now…  
  
"To Sarmatia?" she said dumbfounded. Then a small smile crept across her own face. "Gawain that's wonderful! Finally, I am going home!" she practically squealed, lunging forward at the knight and pouncing on him. He doubled back, patting her on the back. Then he noticed Lancelot's dark expression.  
  
"We're to assist your people Lancelot." He said as his eyebrows knit together. Finn let go of Gawain's neck and turned to Lancelot, expecting him to be as happy as she was. But his grimace was unmistakable, and her eyebrows also creased into a frown.  
  
"Lancelot?" she asked hesitantly.  
  
He'd hoped, no… he'd prayed that this day would not come, and yet it had come soon enough. Fighting, once more, for a place he did not see as home. Perhaps it seemed unnatural, but the place he'd come from had lost its calling. It no longer called to him. Perhaps what had truly beckoned him back was his family, or the idea of settling with a pretty Sarmatian girl. Now, his father and mother were both dead, his village was burned to ash, and the two women he craved most to marry were spoken for…  
  
Finn had told him that day that Alden would be arriving soon and that she would tell him that they had no real future together. He'd seen in her eyes the uncertainty she hid, making that decision. He felt it stab at him. She was not sure of her choice and he felt that deep down, any day she would tell him how foolish she was and run off with Alden after all.  
  
Guinevere, enticing as ever, clung to Arthur more often than usual these past weeks. And though the few times their eyes met, he could see the desire she felt in her eyes, she'd look away immediately. Too soon.  
  
He needed release.  
  
"Lancelot?" Finn repeated, his far off gaze worrying her greatly. But his eyes refocused and they went directly to hers, seconds before he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him, and the pushed past Gawain roughly to disappear into his room. Gawain bristled for a moment outside before he trudged off to find Bors to tell him the great news.  
  
Lancelot pushed Finn roughly to the bed, her knees giving way as they hit the edge. She fell back against it, her eyes large with shock. He paced the room, a few strides. She did not understand what had just happened. It was as if his entire personality had just changed.  
  
"What is going on?" Her voice was timid, and she cursed herself for it. When he didn't answer, and didn't bother to even look at her, the embers of her red hot temper flared. "What is going on?" this time she demanded it, no trace of meekness in her tone.  
  
He stopped and turned to her, and she felt something slip through her when their eyes met. Fear? Agitation? Yearning? It could have been so many feeling induced by his eyes, now a dark, liquid brown.  
  
"You are not to come with us." He said this in a low voice, and it was not a question. It was an order. She'd surely misheard him…or at least that was what she wished to believe.  
  
"Come again?" she said. He put on his patient mask of indifference.  
  
"You are not to come along on the mission to Sarmatia. You will stay here." Before he'd finished she'd pushed herself up off the bed and took a few paces toward him. He expected her to be mad. She wouldn't be Finn if she wasn't.  
  
"And you think you have the authority to tell me that?" she said, her voice dangerous yet steady. He grit his teeth, his fists clenched.  
  
"I do not need authority." He exhumed power as well as fury, and at this moment he took a step forward. Finn was unaware of it, but she'd taken a step back. "Supposing I have to tie you to this bed, you will not leave this outpost." He said evenly.  
  
"It's my home too Lancelot." She said, and this time he could almost hear the pleading in her voice. "You think I will get hurt-"  
  
"No, I know you will get in the way." He emphasized this, taking another intimidating step forward, and this time she couldn't break eye contact if she'd wanted to.  
  
"I'll keep to the wagon-"  
  
"How can I fight when I am too busy worrying about you?" It should have sounded as though he cared. But it came out as if she were a petulant child, a nuisance, one he only put up with because he had to.  
  
"Then don't bother to worry yourself with me." If he thought of her as a child, then she could play the part. "Worry about your precious Guinevere." She said scathingly. It was the last drop of water to fall in a bucket already too full.   
  
He took that remaining step forward, his left hand grabbed her hip, his right grabbed the back of her head and suddenly he pulled her to him. She was pressed flush against him, her face not even an inch away from his. His breath tickled her nose, and she felt that sense of fear and desire fill her again.  
  
"I have never once hit a woman," he said in a harsh voice, "but if I do not kiss you, I will be forced to beat you." Her eyelids had fallen lazily, and she stared at his mouth, thin lips taut and angry. She'd always wanted to know what his kiss would feel like.  
  
"Then I suppose you shall have to kiss me." She said it almost teasingly, but before a smile could play her lips, he'd already covered her mouth with his own. She tensed at first but as her fear dissolved, she sunk into it, returning his kiss, his tongue tracing her lips.   
  
He heard her moan, perhaps for good effect, but his lust fogged mind couldn't be sure. He wanted her… badly. He hadn't bedded a woman in too long, and the release he needed he knew he needed from Finn. He wanted to have her touch every part of him. He wanted her to lick hot trails from his neck to his chest.  
  
She felt his hand bring her closer, literally pressing her against the length of him, as if to mesh them together. She let out a little gasp as he nibbled on her lower lip. She was inexperienced… far more inexperienced than she'd let on. But she wasn't about to let him know that.  
  
"Finney…" Lancelot sucked in a breath as her cold hands found their way under his shirt, onto his well defined stomach. She began massaging him for a few seconds, drawing out a groan of frustration from him, before she took the hem of his shirt and raised it up, above his chest and over his head.  
  
She threw it across the room, and her hands once again began to explore, wandering over his biceps, across his collar bone, down his torso. She was driving him insane, and she had no idea. His eyes snapped shut as he felt the contrast of her cold small hands being replaced by her hot mouth, which sucked his neck greedily.  
  
His hands went to the back of the dress Vanora had lent her. It was loose on her and the ties had just managed to close without showing anything too private. But her back was exposed and he'd yearned to let his hands travel down her spine all day. His nimble fingers made their way to the bow and pulled it free.   
  
His hands crept up her back, and splayed her well muscled back. His hands, unlike hers, were warm, and Finn mumbled an 'mmmmmm' as she felt his hands against her. The humming of her voice against his neck made heat rush low in his body. He just needed to touch her, to feel her skin against his, her impossibly smooth, soft, beautiful skin…  
  
"Lancelot?" he let out a feral growl when he heard Bors voice. He would have ignored him, yet Finn had stopped her ministration on his neck, and had leaned away, looking at the door. She looked…embarrassed? Was she ashamed of being with him in such an intimate way?  
  
"Lancelot you bloody cad, get out here now." Bors bellowed. "Probably lazing about with his gilded youth." He said under his voice. Lancelot turned to see Finn smile at that, before she turned to look up at him.  
  
"Go on." She said after a moment. "They need you." He was still hesitant, his hand tracing light patterns against her bare back. But she knew if he continued, she'd not have the will power to send him away, so she stepped fully out of his embrace. He looked worse than sorely disappointed. "They need you." She repeated. "Life of a Knight, remember?"  
  
Despite the foul mood he'd be in when he left, he smiled. "Wait for me. I shan't be long." He said stepping forward. She was about to step away, but he simply brushed his lips against the top of her head. It was a gentle gesture, one that had ended too soon.  
  
She leaned up just as he was pulling away, but stopped herself halfway towards his lips. But he'd already known what she was doing. The two stared at each other wantonly, and they leaned in, ready to resume their sweet kisses when something flew through the door and hit Lancelot's shoulder. He knelt down and picked up a large boot.   
  
"BORS!" he yelled, throwing the heavy boot back through the door.  
  
"Watch it Laddy, or it'll be followed by me right one." He howled back. Lancelot rolled his eyes, and looked back to Finn, who was sitting down on the bed. She began to scoot back.  
  
"I will wait for you." She said reading his mind. "But the sooner you leave, the sooner you can return." She looked up at him and smiled. "Go."  
  
The last word was simple, and with that he turned, grabbing his shirt on his way, throwing it on and walked out of the room. Finn let go a long sigh and fell back against her pillow. A smile was firmly planted on her face. Kissing Lancelot was like … tasting immortality. She felt safe and beautiful and young and untouchable by anything other than his steady hands.  
  
When he returned many hours later from their meeting, the sun was rising over the hillside, and he saw her lithe body lying across his bed.   
  
She'd fallen asleep waiting for him. He'd been away far too long. 


	7. Hardest Choice

Chapter 7  
  
Rated: R… Hard R for later chapters.  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own a bloody thing.   
  
This chapter is pretty short. Little incert of Arthur-Finn relationship. None the less important. Cliffhanger-y and a little cornball. But that's what makes us all feel so warm and fuzzy inside.  
  
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"Wake up." Came a soft far off voice. "Finnabhair, wake little one." Her eyes fluttered open at the soft command and she was staring up into a pair of sea green eyes.  
  
"Arthur." She gasped, sitting up. She had been lying diagonally across the bed, and he noticed that the ties that held the back of her dress together had been pulled free. She'd accidentally fallen asleep… perhaps waiting for something. Or someone.   
  
He smiled, and she knew immediately that he knew she and Lancelot had…the very thought made her blush. He laughed as her face instantly colored.  
  
"Do not feel ashamed Lady Finnabhair. Your secret is safe." She sighed in relief. She didn't even bother trying to act as though it were all fiction, a figment of Arthur's imagination. She knew he was smarter than that. And she respected him. She would never lie to Arthur.  
  
"Where was he last night?" she asked, stretching her arms above her head. "He never returned to me." Arthur smiled apologetically.  
  
"We had a lucrative meeting last night. My apologies that I had to steal him from your side for too long a time." She shook her head as she scooted toward the side of the bed, her legs dropping over the side.  
  
"You need not offer me anything. You've already given me too much." She gave him a dazzling smile. "Moreover, I've waited fifteen years for the oaf. You think one night is unbearable?"   
  
"That again was partially my fault." He said, bracing himself for a slap or scathing remark. When none came he moved to sit next to her, and she knew that what he was about to say was in no way related to Lancelot. She stared up into his handsome countenance. He was not handsome like Lancelot. He looked haunted, and rough.   
  
"When are we leaving?" she asked, sliding on foot across the floor idly. There was a pregnant pause.  
  
"My knights and I leave in little more than an hour." He said carefully. She jumped up.  
  
"Well it is a good thing you came to rouse me or I might have missed the caravan." She bristled. "Oh that Lancelot will get an earful for not waking me." She pulled on one boot, hopping around on one foot as she tried to wrestle it onto her foot. As she began on the other, she heard a heavy sigh.  
  
"No. You are not to come." She stopped dead, frozen in place, staring at him. His eyes were downcast at first but eventually came up to look at hers.  
  
"Lancelot told you not to bring me." She said, her jaw set, as she let go of the second boot. He drew a long breath.  
  
"He is right in worrying for your safety." He said meaningfully. "He cares desperately for you, and if anything should happen-"  
  
"I traveled many miles through Woad country to get here. I survived the Saxon attack. And you think you can leave me behind and salvage my town and home?" He grimaced. It seemed an evil deed to deny her when she said this. "How would you suffer Arthur? Had it been your village that was to be saved and you were not to come along?"  
  
He would feel… unbearable pain. He understood and rose. But his promise to Lancelot nagged in the back of his head like a bug that pestered a horse.  
  
"Promise me Arthur. You will not let Finn come along. It's much too dangerous, and if I lost her…" he'd trailed off and Arthur stood dumbstruck as his greatest friend pleaded for the life of a lady he actually loved. "I just found her Arthur. I cannot lose her so soon."  
  
Arthur had agreed. It was the least he owed to Lancelot. And the fact that Finnabhair had done what many had attempted to do, capturing Lancelot's heart…  
  
She was special. He'd known it since the time he'd first met her. Simple yet beautiful, young but none the less wise. She was a puzzle, and Arthur found that he'd immediately taken to the young girl. There was nothing extraordinary about, at least not obviously. But her spirit burned brightly and it had drawn him in, as he supposed many had been before him.  
  
But if it had been him in her place, he would've found means to go no matter what. And he had the strange feeling that nothing would stop Finn from riding back to her homeland. Not even Lancelot.  
  
"You will come then." He said softly. "But hide yourself." He warned when he saw her look of confusion at having won so easily. "Stay covered while in the caravan, and I will try with all my might to see to it that you are not discovered by Lancelot." A large grin broke out over her face and suddenly she flung herself at him, hugging him.  
  
"I know they say you are a king, but I only know you as my most respected friend." She said, throwing all caution to the wind. She'd never imagined a king to be so mindful of his people.  
  
At first he felt awkward by her sudden action and brazen comment. But soon he felt a lopsided grin cross his own face and he patted her back lightly.  
  
"Do not thank me so soon." He said, and she drew back. "If you are discovered I will say I had not been privied to your plans." Her head tilted slightly, so he continued to explain. "Lancelot is my oldest, most trusted friend. I will not risk our friendship, not even for your wishes Lady Finnabhair."   
  
"I understand." She said with a small nod. She expected nothing less. She did not want to break Lancelot and Arthur apart, she only wished to see her home again, even when it was burned to cinders. He nodded his thanks and rose from the bed.  
  
"Hurry to the wagon. The knights will be along in only a few minutes." He said before he headed for the doorway.  
  
"Wait." He stopped and turned. "What about Lancelot? Won't he come to say goodbye?" Arthur blinked, before he hesitantly pulled a folded piece of parchment from his breastplate. He handed it to her. Her eyes went from the note, up to Arthur. He gave her one last smile and swept from the room.  
  
She looked down at the paper, and pulled the string from it, unfolding it slowly to reveal Lancelot's messy scrawl. She read it carefully, her eyes skimming the weathered page.  
  
-----  
  
My dearest Finn,  
  
I am leaving you here at the outpost. I could not bring myself to wake you when thoughts of you being injured flashed before my eyes. But you must know one thing, and I only wish I could tell you in person. I think that I have fallen in love with you.  
  
That is one thing I have never told anyone. No woman who ever graced my bed. No woman whose eyes met mine. Not Guinevere.  
  
When I return from our village, I pray you will meet me at the doors of the Wall. I pray that you will wait for me as vigilantly as you did last night, or for that matter, our entire lives. And when I return, I will show you how I should have treated you. Like a goddess. Because I think that you must have been dropped from the heavens. When I come home, the only thing I will truly see is you. Perhaps in that gown you wore yesterday. The one that doesn't quite cover you.  
  
-----  
  
She laughed at that.  
  
-----  
  
Know that this time I will return to you. I promise you that. And know that I love you. I love you my brave, beautiful, temperamental but oddly charming Finnabhair. I love you.  
  
Lancelot  
  
-----  
  
She stared long and hard at the sickeningly sweet note he'd planned to leave her. And now she wondered…should she go to the caravan as she'd planned? She did not want to betray his trust. But then her village needed her…  
  
She was torn yet again with one of the hardest decisions she'd ever have to make. So what would she do? 


	8. Into the Dark

Chapter 8  
  
Rated: R… Hard R for later chapters.  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own a bloody thing.   
  
This is probably my longest chapter yet. It's a little sappy at some points but bear with me. Don't reach for that pepto bismal just yet.   
  
Hopefully I've kept with the true spirit of Lancelot, since I've focused on him in this chapter. I saw the movie for the second time yesterday, so I started trying to put together feelings he may have felt. Hopefully you'll enjoy. Try and be open minded and as always REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! hint - I LOVE long reviews...  
  
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Lancelot sighed heavily as he swayed back and forth on his horse. He watched the fog of breath he'd expelled and once again cursed the climate of Britain. His cloak clung to him, or rather he to it, as the deep penetrating cold settled around them. They'd been journeying for two weeks, trekking through the mud and frost that had settled on the ground. He found that his appetite had waned the last week, and he ate only when needed. Otherwise he busied himself either with checking supplies and weapons or with tending to his horse.   
  
He sometimes wondered why Arthur was so particular about having him up ahead of the knights and caravan. He had once tried to get into the caravan to clean a wound that Galahad had obtained from a wild boar that had crossed their path. But Arthur had not allowed it and had gotten the bandages himself. Anytime Lancelot tried to get within close distance of the caravan, he'd be ushered forward again by Arthur. Some days it was all he did, muse about why Arthur would always send him away.  
  
Then one day he'd managed to get past Arthur and into the wagon. All that was inside was a small cupboard full of herbs and medicines, some animal pelts for warmth, a few cooking supplies and a sack full of dull weapons. The mystery of the caravan was over, and that left little to keep Lancelot amused when he was alone.  
  
Bors and Gawain had attempted to bring him into an argument the two were having over which child of Bors would win in a fight. Bors insisted it was Gilly, but Gawain had been watching little William and swore that number four would be the victor in any fight between the two.  
  
Lancelot had offered a weak siding with Bors, and then turned on his heel and headed back to the camp, leaving his fellow knights to wonder exactly why he was so withdrawn.  
  
"He's getting to be worse than Tristan was." Gawain had commented offhandedly when Arthur had inquired into why Lancelot was acting so strangely. He hated to see his friend like this. He was usually bantering along with the knights, play fighting and talking. Now he would just sit by the fire and stare into it as if in a daze.  
  
The only times he showed signs of life was when he and Guinevere were together. They would ride side by side and talk, solemnly but socially. He felt it increasingly difficult to keep himself in check, when he wished to be intimate with someone. He knew he probably shouldn't stay as close to Guinevere as he did, especially after he'd received a long slash in his arm and she'd tended to it. The way her long slender fingers had brushed his forearm had made him immediately tense, and every fiber of his body screamed as he fought the urge to claim her mouth with his own.  
  
When night fell, Guinevere would disappear from Lancelot's side and he would fall back into his reverie. He didn't sleep much. He didn't eat much. The sooner they made it to his village, all the better it would be for him.  
  
They stopped and Arthur declared that this would be where they would set up camp. The knights, most of whom were growing weary from the long journey and the cold, dismounted and began making their beds, and pulling layer over layer onto themselves.  
  
Lancelot wandered into the forest and found a dry spot. He sat on the cold hard ground, his back leaning against a tree, as he turned to the page of his book where he'd last left off. He was engrossed in the particular chapter, so engrossed he barely noticed Arthur sidle up to him and take a seat beside him.  
  
"So grim, Lancelot?" he said, but his dearest friend didn't even look up. "I believe it will be another two weeks before we reach your village." Lancelot nodded, still staring down at the page before him. "I spoke with Finn before we left." This had gotten Lancelot's attention and he looked up from his book.  
  
"You spoke with her? She was awake before we left?" he said, his eyebrows creased. If she'd been awake, why hadn't she come to see him and argue with why she wasn't to come along? Why had she simply stayed? That didn't seem like Finn at all.  
  
"I gave her your note." Arthur continued, looking up at the starry sky. "And I left her to her thoughts." Lancelot's face did not change to one of relief and Arthur turned to face his friend. "If you wished her to come, why make such a fuss over leaving her for her own safety?" Lancelot blinked.  
  
"I didn't want her to come…" he said slowly. He didn't. Really, he didn't.   
  
"You say nay, but your eyes betray you, my friend." Arthur said, his eyes crinkled as a light smile touched his mouth. "In your heart, you never expected her to really stay behind." It was true. Lancelot had not consciously realized it, but he hadn't thought that she would stay at the north wall obediently.  
  
"I will not deny that." He said, pushing a large hand through his constantly tussled hair. "But I will also not deny that I find peace of mind knowing she is far from harm's way."  
  
"Well. You seem at peace." Arthur said in a gently sarcastic voice. "You live Lancelot. But since we left the wall, you are not alive. You simply exist." Lancelot looked down at the hard pact earth, turning his friend's comment over in his head. "How is it you and Finn came about…?" Arthur could not quell his inner curiosity towards Lancelot and Finn's past.   
  
Lancelot's eyes seemed to glaze over as his mind flew back to a time when his worries were no greater than where his next fight with the boys would be. When times were simpler.   
  
He knew everything he needed to know. He knew how to trap a rabbit with his father. He knew which berries to pick when he was too hungry to wait for his next meal. He knew his mother loved him. He knew that life beyond the rotting wooden fences of his little village was cold and dreary and drenched in blood.  
  
"We grew up together." He finally began, after a long silence. Arthur nodded. "She was discovered by my father one morning, lying in a heap of cloth, her mother's dead body beside her." Arthur's brows knitted and Lancelot looked to him. "Romans." He said simply.   
  
"They had tried to steal their horse. I suppose her mother tried to fight back, but they had overpowered her and she lay cold on the ground when my da found her. Finn was just a babe then." He fingered the figurehead that Finn had given him fifteen years ago. "As to her father's whereabouts…we never did find him."  
  
"So your family took her in? Is she of Sarmatian blood?" Arthur asked, genuinely interested. Lancelot shrugged.  
  
"She may be, she may not. But as far as my people were concerned, the moment her mother had her life taken, she became Sarmatian." He gazed out into the endless night, recounting his life back home.   
  
"She was a girl with a sweet disposition, from a time when she was very young, to the day I left. But she could show that she had gall, of that be sure. She stood her ground when anyone tried to bully her into something. And mind you, I was one who teased her worst of all." There was a long guilt filled pause. "The girl can swear fiercer than even Bors." Arthur chuckled at that. He had no doubt it was true. "But she was vulnerable in many ways. She'd try to hide it, acting as tough as any boy, but we lived under the same roof. I'd hear her cry at night."  
  
Arthur watched his friend's face as it changed slightly to one of pure sadness. "So young." Arthur said as if reading his mind. "To have everything stolen from you. Everything denied to you."  
  
"We were demons to her. I suppose when she first came to the wall, I tried to ignore the unhappy memories. But now I see how much we tormented her in the past."  
  
"Children can be cruel." Arthur cut in, not wanting his friend to feel any shame. "It was long ago. Now you've had some wisdom instilled, and she seems happy with the change."  
  
"I've not met many women like her." Lancelot acknowledged.   
  
"She has cast her spell on you, and you will find it hard to break free of it."  
  
"She has put no spell on me. My feelings are true. It was Guinevere who cast a spell over you." Lancelot said defensively. Arthur laughed lightly.  
  
"You may be right my friend. After all, it is you who knows me best and better than myself." He said good-naturedly. "And how is it you came to realize that it is Guinevere who has power over me?"  
  
Lancelot looked down at his freshly blistered fingers and calloused hands. "Since the moment you laid eyes on her." There was a pause.  
  
"You mean since the moment we laid eyes on her." Lancelot looked up, and Arthur was looking down at him, his head tilted back, as if he were gauging his friend's reaction.  
  
"You followed her constantly friend." Lancelot continued, undaunted by his friend's comment. "I remember the way you followed her into the night, while we were fleeing the Saxons on our tails." His hands came together and he laced his fingers together. "Your eyes always strayed to her. She was the cause of your staying to fight the Saxons."  
  
"Don't be a fool." Arthur cut in. "It was my own free will, my decision to stay and defend the outpost."  
  
"She manipulated you." Lancelot continued, his voice growing louder and more passionate. "She and Merlin. They put you up on your pedestal, the only man who could lead Briton. They planted the seeds of your reign, even before you realized it. And then when it came time to choose between freedom from war and a life of responsibility, you chose her over your men." He stopped abruptly when those words left his mouth. He brought one hand up to his neck and massaged it, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. They sat in silence for a long while, each man staring out into the darkness of the forest.   
  
"I am sorry, Lancelot." Came a quiet reply. "It may be true that Guinevere and Merlin brought it to my attention that Briton needed a leader. But I still had a choice. I was never trapped into leading you all into battle. It is my own fault that I forced the knights to come. My own fault that Tristan died and you were near death yourself."  
  
Lancelot's hand trailed down to his chest, to just below his heart, where the arrow had pierced him. He'd barely survived. It was because of Guinevere that he had.  
  
"Guinevere manipulated us both." He said. He had to place the blame in someone. And though sometimes he thrust it at Arthur, his friend was innocent of bad will. She was easy to blame. He could not have her, and so it made it all the easier.  
  
"She manipulated no one." Arthur said gently. "Though I know I am not the only one she drew in." Lancelot's gaze shifted to Arthur, who had the lightest of smiles on his lips. "I see you look at her." His eyes fell shut. "And I see her return your gaze."  
  
Lancelot was rendered speechless. He knew. His most deep and profoundly shameful secret and the man he'd never wished to find out knew it well. As well, he knew Guinevere felt it too.  
  
"And yet you stay my friend, valiant as ever." Lancelot said softly, in a bitter tone. Arthur was too much of a saint to feel ill will toward Lancelot. Sometimes, he wished Arthur would hit him or yell or banish him away. Instead he was left to rot in his own guilt for having feelings for his most cherished friend's wife.  
  
Arthur exhaled deeply and slowly. "You feel shameful." Lancelot snorted in reply and shook his head.  
  
"Shouldn't I?" he said as he let his arm drop to his leg and scratched his knee. "Does Guinevere know that you are aware…?" Arthur shook his head.  
  
"She knows not." He said simply. Lancelot waited for anything, a curse, a yell, a blow to his gut. He hadn't denied his feelings for Guinevere, and yet Arthur sat still, almost calmly.  
  
"Hit me." Lancelot said shortly. Arthur turned to him and blinked, his face confused. "Punch me." Arthur frowned and got up from the ground, shortly after, Lancelot followed suit. "Fell me. Strike me down, for I am not worthy of your compassion."  
  
"I won't hit you Lancelot." Arthur said as he crossed his arms over his chest. "And I will not tell Guinevere. I trust you both, and though you may have slight longing for each other, I believe it will never extend further."  
  
"Really? And why would that be?" Lancelot said angrily. He was angry with Arthur for not being angry with him. It seemed odd, but he couldn't help loathing his friend's self righteous attitude.  
  
"Because I know that you both care for me too much to let anything happen." He said bluntly. "And I believe that you love Finn far too much to let anything happen." At this Lancelot relaxed slightly, his hands unclenching. His friend had much wisdom, and sometimes he wondered where it had come from.  
  
But before Lancelot could say anything, an apology or a curse of his own, Arthur had bowed his head slightly and walked back toward the camp and toward a wife he knew had thought for someone other than him. It seemed sad and tragic. Lancelot stared after Arthur, who walked away, into the darkness. He always walked into the darkness, and yet he had no fear. Lancelot envied him.  
  
He hung his head and massaged his brow. He'd find even less peace tonight. He picked up his book and walked slowly toward the camp. As he neared his horse, he looked at his tattered and torn blanket. It seemed like a fitting end to a rotten day. He took it and threw it on the ground, turned and kicked a tree. His foot now ached, but he'd rid himself of some frustration.  
  
He limped toward the carriage to fetch a blanket or animal pelt, when he heard voices from within. He slowed his pace and strained his hearing. Two female voices sounded from the silence. If he recounted correctly, the only lady to accompany them on their journey had been Guinevere.  
  
His jaw ticked as he sped his pace toward the carriage. He finally reached its side and pulled back the coverlet roughly, revealing Guinevere, sitting cross-legged on the wagon floor. He looked around the rest of the caravan, but it seemed empty.  
  
"May I help you Lancelot?" His eyes met hers and he could feel her uneasiness wash over him. She was hiding something. Her demeanor was different from usual, and he took his time, his eyes roaming over every inch of the interior. Finally he admitted defeat and let one hand fall across a large blanket.  
  
"Nothing at all." He said in a low tone before he pulled the bedspread to him. And that is when he made the discovery.  
  
His eyes snapped directly to the green ones that had been uncovered by the blanket. They looked shocked, and he saw, with some satisfaction, a small amount of fear flash in them. He jumped back and threw the blanket completely off of Finn, leaving her no place to hide.  
  
"I knew it!" he shouted, his eyes squinting with anger. "I knew you'd not listen to me! You foolish idiot!" he yelled. Finn lay back on top of a pelt, a look of alarm still firmly planted on her face. But soon it was being replaced with a look of anger too, and it was directed at Lancelot.  
  
"Of course I still came you evil git!" she cried back. "You think a sickly letter would keep me behind?! You may have tried to abandon me, but boyo, I've become an expert at not being left behind!" she pushed herself to the edge of the caravan and hopped down.   
  
"Oh no. You get right back in that wagon." He ordered, taking her arm roughly in his hand. She wrenched it away, glaring daggers at him for his nerve.  
  
"And then what?" she asked. "My secret is out. There is no more reason for me to stay locked away anymore." She side stepped him and began heading for camp, but he made a grab for her hand once again and pulled her back.  
  
"You are going no where but home." He said, turning her to face him. "I will have one of the soldiers escort you back to the wall, where you will wait patiently for our return-"  
  
"If you honestly believe that that will happen, then you are an even greater moron than I'd originally thought." She spat, but this time he would not allow her the leisure of a loose grip and he held her steadfast. But their argument was interrupted when a forth person happened upon the scene.  
  
"What is the meaning of all the commotion?" Arthur belted out, his eyes for once agitated, but his voice died immediately when he beheld his wife, sitting dumbstruck at the wagon's edge, and Lancelot gripping Finn, his face furious. Actually hers was just as livid.  
  
Lancelot watched Arthur and Finn's eyes meet, and that secret communication rose again, making all his blood rush between his ears. Their eyes spoke volumes this time however and his heart belt out a swift rhythm.   
  
"You knew!" he bellowed, a look of dawning and betrayal rushing over his tan face. "You knew she was here all along!" He pushed Finn back forcefully and before any of them were aware, he hurled himself at Arthur, grabbing the slightly larger man around the neck and tackled him to the ground.  
  
"Lancelot!" Finn screamed just as she hit the edge of the wagon. Her hand flew to her hip, as a stabbing pain attacked it. But she ignored it as best she could, ready to throw herself onto the two men on the ground. Lancelot was doing his best to hit Arthur, and Arthur was just as eagerly striking him back.  
  
But before Finn could launch herself at the two, a slim figure dashed past her, flying over her shoulder from the wagon platform. Guinevere stumbled down onto the ground and proceeded to push the two men apart. The moment her hand clasped Arthur's shoulder, he seemed to sober and stopped his fighting. Lancelot however was not so ready to finish said brawl.   
  
"Lancelot!" Guinevere yelled, pushing him away and helping her husband to his feet. He rolled away and up onto his feet in one fluid and feline motion. But he still stood as if to pounce back on Arthur. Guinevere was now standing between the two, her arms thrown out, a scowl on her elegant yet feral face.  
  
"Lancelot he did nothing!" Finn declared vehemently. "He knew not of my plans to hide away in the wagon." Lancelot turned on her. He made no move to come closer, but all the same she felt herself press back against the edge of the caravan.  
  
"Do not be false with me Finnabhair." He warned, his voice carrying a sense of danger with it. When she made no attempt to speak again, he turned back to Arthur, who had a long gash beside his left eye. "You promised me you would not allow her to come."  
  
"He told her not to." Guinevere cut in. "Arthur has done no wrong here. It is she who has put herself in such a position not Arthur." Lancelot stood still, his nostrils flared, breathing hard. He raised his hand, but halted suddenly, his eyes looking deeply into Guinevere as she stood in defiance of him for Arthur. He let his hand drop, let out a sound of exasperation before he turned swiftly on his heel and walked out into the dark woods.  
  
"Lancelot!" Finn yelled after him, becoming more and more aware of the pain in her side. Guinevere turned to Arthur, letting her thumb trail over his fresh abrasion. Finn pushed down her tenderness and chased after Lancelot into the dark. She wandered far, and every snapping twig, every rustled leaf made her jump. She was growing leery of the encompassing dark but she would not go back without him.  
  
"Lancelot you utter shithead!" she hissed as she began to lose sight of Guinevere and Arthur.  
  
"Leave me in peace." Came a low, angry voice. She looked up above, and there he sat, silhouetted in a tree.  
  
"No I will do no such thing." She said through gritted teeth. "You're a true maniac, are you aware?" she said as she approached the tree and stared up at his dark form. "You could have seriously injured Arthur."  
  
"That was the purpose." He said scathingly as he dropped down from his branch beside her. He towered over her threateningly and she backed up to the tree, trying to move away from him, but this time he felt he wished to intimidate her. He moved closer.  
  
"You care more for Arthur than for me?" he asked. He was being melodramatic, and deep down he knew it. But at the moment he was seeing red and she was the source.  
  
"Of course not." She said as her voice softened. She was trying to bring him back down from his now emotionally overwrought state. "I came here for you."  
  
"I told you to stay!" he said, now so close she could feel his heavy breath on her cheek, and smell his musky odor.   
  
"I couldn't!" she exclaimed her voice raw from her earlier screaming. "I couldn't stay away from you any longer!" she brought her fist up to punch his shoulder, and then repeated the action. Over and over she hit at his chest until he'd finally become fed up with it and grabbed her wrists, holding her against his chest. "You expected me to stay away, but I couldn't. I just couldn't." Her head fell under his chin.  
  
"I'm trying to protect you." He said, desperately trying to make her understand. Her head shook beneath his chin, before it rose up so that their eyes could meet.  
  
"I needed to see you." Her eyes were welling up but she refused to cry. "After you said all those sweet things in your letter," her hand made its way to his scratchy beard, "I knew I had to come. If only to be near you. I don't care if I die tomorrow-"  
  
"No." he simply commanded as he brought his own hand up to her mouth. "Never say such things." But she pulled his hand from her mouth and drew it down to her neck.  
  
"I cannot sleep when you are too far from the wagons. I cannot eat when I see that you starve yourself. I cannot think of other things while you plague my every waking thought. You make me insane, but I think that I do not mind so much…"  
  
"Hush now, no more." He said frantic to force her to stop her sweet murmurs. "Be still and silent." He could not bear to have her pour her heart out to him. Not here or now. She needed rest and food.  
  
She quieted, and a single tear rolled down her soft cheek, her green eyes watery and glistening in the starlight. He leaned down and gently kissed the single tear from her jaw. It was a chaste kiss, one that tasted of salt and lilac. He drew her to him and stooped to sweep his arm under her knees. She was in a daze now, so many nights of no sleep taking their toll after such an emotionally charged night.   
  
He carried her, and though she was in a dreamy state, she could faintly hear him humming to her. As they neared the wagon, his eyes wandered down to her face and he saw that her eyelids were shut. He lay her down softly on the animal pelt, before bending down and retrieving his blanket. He climbed onto the edge and crawled to her side lying down and drawing the blanket up over them both. He felt her nestle into his side and as his arm weaved over her side he felt himself drift into a truly peaceful sleep. 


	9. Simplicity

Chapter 9  
  
Rated: R… Hard R for later chapters.  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own a bloody thing.   
  
Okay, just so you all know...I don't hate Guinevere. I'm pretty sure that the way I'm depicting Lancelot and Guinevere... it's hard to understand where they're coming from and hard to like them because of the way they are acting. But basically, they're both nice people. They just made a couple bad decisions.  
  
Anyway, just thought I should clear that up. It's pretty easy to side with Finn and Arthur, but I'm sure if you thought really hard you'd see why L and G do the things they do. They may not be right, but its not like they MEAN to be mean spirited...  
  
And I'm defending fake characters so I'll shut up now and let you read. And REVIEW! hint - STILL enjoy long reviews  
  
Oh and lots of action in the next chapter... of that you can be sure!  
  
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When Lancelot awoke the next morning, the sky was a deep ocean blue; the clouds toward the east tinted a light pink. He felt Finn stir in his arms, though she stayed in the arms of slumber, her even breathing continuing. He exhaled, and for once he had a smile on his face. Not a cocky, arrogant smile designed to seduce or irritate. It was a truly content smile.  
  
In the night Finn had slung her arm over his chest and her leg had tangled itself in his own long ones. She was breathing down his open collar, her light warm breath tickling his collarbone. He let his hand fall to hers and his long fingers traced her thumb, her wrist, the underside of her palm. He was letting his index finger smooth her knuckles when the wagon cover rustled and his eyes looked up into a pair of dark brown ones.  
  
Guinevere sat on the edge of the wagon staring at the sleeping lovers. She bit her lip and for once she felt self conscious. The only other time she'd felt this way, was outside Arthur's bedchambers, the first time they'd made love.  
  
"I see you are awake." She said quietly. He nodded, and the two stayed silent for long moments.  
  
"How is Arthur?" Lancelot asked, his anger having sobered, leaving nothing but the gritty after taste of remorse.   
  
"He is fine." She said simply. "And Finn?" she threw in, trying to sound as if she wanted to know. Lancelot's smile flitted across his face, and Guinevere felt her heart rise up into her throat.  
  
"She is well enough." He said, and his fingers now continued their soft dance along her own hand. "What is it the two of you were talking of? In the wagon, before I discovered you?" It had been a question he'd wanted to ask since he'd heard them speaking in the dark of the night.  
  
Guinevere looked slightly surprised, as if she didn't expect him to ask. But a split second later she had shrugged and taken a seat on the floor in front of him.  
  
"You, mostly." She said as her fingers fidgeted with her archery glove. "She wanted to know how I felt about you." He nodded, his face turning a bit grim. He knew it must have pained Finn to know that he had eyes for another.  
  
"And your response?" he asked, and to his shock, dread pooled in the pit of his stomach.   
  
"I told her that I care for you." She admitted, looking down at the carriage floor. "More than simply a friend, and certainly more than the other knights." He should have been jumping for joy. He'd wanted to hear that confession since the night he'd spied her bathing while they were delivering Alecto to Germanus. But now…he felt even emptier than before she'd admitted anything.  
  
"She was heart broken." Guinevere continued, upon seeing Lancelot's face. "She believed that she could not compete with me when it came to the affairs of your heart." Lancelot felt his hold around Finn tighten.  
  
"And what was it that you told her?" he asked, his eyes not leaving hers. He needed to know. Desperately.  
  
"I told her that it was I who could not compete where your love was concerned." Her face softened and he saw a sad smile make its way to the surface. "I know you love her." She said quietly, her gaze now downcast. Lancelot's eyes followed hers, to the floor.  
  
"Arthur knows." He said lightly, his voice barely a whisper. But Guinevere's keen hearing didn't miss it and her head lifted immediately to see if he was lying. When she saw he wasn't, she felt her heart fall down into the depths of her stomach.  
  
"He…" she trailed off, her arms coming around her to hug herself. "He knows?" she repeated. Lancelot nodded.  
  
"For how long, I cannot be sure. But I believe that it has been since we first met." He said and he saw her face grow pale and she whimpered, though no tears fell.  
  
"I've been a vile friend." He said to himself more than to her.  
  
"And I a terrible wife." She added, feeling her insides grow cold. "You must realize Lancelot," she said, drawing his attention back up to her, "I love him more than my own life." He sighed loudly.  
  
"As do I." He said. "And I do love her. I would give my life for hers if need be." Guinevere nodded, and she felt saddened by the news. But she'd finally grown enough to see that even as a princess, you are not awarded everything you desire. But she had been given the thing she'd wanted and needed the most in all her life. Her husband.  
  
"What a pair we are. Hurting all those who love us better than we love each other…" he said inwardly scolding himself, as he stroked Finn's side lovingly. She murmured in her sleep, and Guinevere broke from her haunted daze.  
  
"I must go." She said in a far off voice. She was about to slip from the caravan when Lancelot interrupted her escape.  
  
"He loves you Guinevere. More than I ever could. It will be alright." He said quickly, wishing her to understand that not all was over between her and the greatest king of Briton. She turned and gave him a grateful smile and slipped away.   
  
He drew in a long breath at having finally confronted Guinevere about Arthur and Finn. He felt a cool hand snake up his chest and neck and looked down to see Finn's eyes wide, her mouth smiling in the crooked way he'd come to adore.  
  
"You love me…" she said tenderly, before she leaned up and kissed his chin softly, his neatly trimmed beard scratching her cheek. "You love me." She repeated, a little louder this time, her lips tracing his cheek and the corner of his own mouth. "You-"  
  
"I love you." He said aloud to her, the first time he'd ever declared his love in person. He smiled as he saw her eyes light up, and then sipped at her lips, reveling in the warm feeling it brought to his body. He felt her smile into the kiss as he pulled her up on top of him so that she was lying against the length of him. She was deepening the kiss; she needed more, needed it like the air she breathed. But he suddenly pulled away and she frowned down at him. He chuckled lightly at her surprised look.  
  
"And you?" he asked playfully. "You love me as well?" She smiled down at him and shrugged lightly.  
  
"Love…such a strong word." She pouted, making the corners of his mouth quirk. "Besides, you smell like an old boot and snore like a bear." She teased, letting one finger trail down his jaw. He laughed boisterously before rolling them to the left so that he was looming over her. He tried to seem threatening but it was difficult when her smile was so infectious.  
  
"Yes but I make up for it by being roguishly charming and handsome." He said as he pat her bottom. She gasped melodramatically, rolling her eyes.  
  
"That, my dear, would be a matter of opinion." She said looking down at him, her eyes twinkling. He snorted.  
  
"Perhaps I should ravage you, to teach you not to be so callous and cruel." He said grinning down at her, his hand gently pushing the shoulders of her dress down her arms. She looked pensive for a moment, as her hands came up to the back of his neck and spread through his hair. He leaned into the touch, as it shot lightening through him.  
  
"Perhaps I should ravage you," she said noting how feline he was to her touch, "tie you to something and have my way with you." She let one of her hands slide down his spine, and he arched back when he felt her hand squeeze his backside.  
  
"You are a saucy minx." He growled. She giggled at his choice of words.  
  
"I know." She beamed. "I think you should dote on me more, though."   
  
"Really? And how exactly should I go about that?" He asked, sounding intrigued. She leaned up to whisper in his ear, her hot damp breath making his skin tingle.  
  
"I want you to kiss me, and make love to me, and I want to drive you to insanity and drag you back down…"   
  
He was about to dive back down onto her and follow her every instruction, word for word, and probably enjoy it, when a knock sounded at the wagon's edge.  
  
"Well, I want privacy." He snarled, genuinely irritated by the tendency of others to interrupt them. She sighed, and looked a bit disappointed herself as he climbed off of her and ripped back the tarp. Galahad stood sharpening one of his knives, not even bothering to look up at Lancelot.  
  
"Go away." Lancelot barked. Galahad looked up, his eyebrow raised as he looked past Lancelot to Finn who gave him a slightly embarrassed smile. He then returned his gaze to Lancelot and smacked his friend in the arm.  
  
"You'll have to put the romp on hold for a bit. Arthur says we have to move now." He said nonchalantly, while Finn's cheeks burned with mortification. Lancelot bared his teeth at Galahad.  
  
"I know you wouldn't understand Galahad, having never bedded a woman yourself, but unless it is vital that I mount up, I rather think I'll stay here." He belted out. Galahad now looked like the humiliated one and Finn clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from smiling.  
  
"As to that," Galahad growled, "there is a party of Saxons on our trail. They are but a few days behind, and their party is small, but Arthur does not want to risk open battle." Galahad's eyes strayed to Finn who now looked discomforted with the news of Saxons. "Unless you wish to risk casualties…"  
  
Lancelot turned back to look at Finn, who was now pulling the shoulder of her dress back up, her eyes staring at nothing. He sighed as he dragged a hand through his messy hair.  
  
"Very well. I'll be up in five minutes." He said, before Galahad turned and left, muttering half curses at Lancelot as he went. Lancelot turned back to Finn who bit her lip nervously. She knew what he would say, and just as he opened his mouth to say it, her hand rose to stop him.  
  
"I know." She said as her eyes fell shut. "I am sorry to put a burden in your mind as to my well being." She apologized, as she let her hand fall to her lap. "I will keep to the wagon and out of sight." She promised. He nodded, as he reached for her hand, took it in his own and kissed it.  
  
"Be safe." He whispered to her fingers, as he began to exit the wagon.   
  
"But promise me something." She said quickly as he jumped down onto the ground. "Come back to me at the end of this day and every other." She pleaded. "Keep yourself safe." He nodded, before he turned and began walking for camp.   
  
They both knew he could never truthfully make that promise. She'd known it the day she admitted she was not to marry Alden. She'd known the day would come when he'd be put in harm's way and he might not survive. But she hadn't wished that day to come so soon.  
  
Lancelot stalked toward his horse, a grave expression fixed on his face. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones that today was not to be a good day.  
  
Bors watched Lancelot come to his horse's side and stroke its mane, a severe look on his face, and Bors drew a long breath before angrily clamping an armor piece to his forearm. "I hate it when he does that."  
  
Gawain looked up, eyebrows high on his forehead. "Does what?" he asked gruffly. Bors snorted.  
  
"He thinks something's wrong." He said matter of factly, motioning over his shoulder to the lone knight. "And you know when he thinks something's wrong…"  
  
"It usually is." Arthur finished as he joined his knights who were gathered around the fire. He turned to Wexley, a Woad who served to be their guide. "You're certain they are days behind us?" he asked warily.  
  
Wexley nodded. "Days. Back by Dun Rohpoim. Far away." His English was detached, but he managed, before he grabbed his sack and pack and threw them onto his horse. Arthur had been told by Merlin that Wexley was a good guide, but he would've felt better had it been Tristan leading them and scouting for them.  
  
"Good." He finally said before he clapped his hands together. "Mount up. We leave now." He commanded, and all the knights groaned melodramatically before making their way to their own steeds. Arthur was about to follow when he felt a gentle hand touch his arm. He looked down at Guinevere's face. He knew, even before she spoke… Lancelot had told her.  
  
"My lord." She said quietly, her eyes larger than he remembered them to be. One giant hand cupped her face for a moment, while his for once unsmiling face took in her aura of guilt. He said nothing as his hand fell from her cheek and he turned away, shrugging off her hand. She stood there and watched him take his horse's reigns wordlessly from Jols.  
  
"Jols." She said as the squire passed her. "Take my horse. I will ride in the caravan today." He nodded, a slight bow of the head, before he headed to her horse.   
  
She looked back toward Arthur and saw that he was staring at her, his eyes cold and glazed with distrust. Suddenly he pulled the reigns of his horse and it turned as he headed toward the main road. She let out a breath, the air attacking it and making it seem like smoke. She felt like she must truly be the devil or some other wicked thing.  
  
She sighed and walked quickly toward the wagon as one of the Woad warriors tugged on the reigns of the horses to start their journey. She leapt over the side of the wagon and landed soundlessly on the wooden floor. She heard Finn gasp as the girl whipped around. She clutched her chest and smiled in spite of her jumpiness.   
  
"You startled me." She said, as her eyes opened again. Guinevere gave her a small smile in return.  
  
"I did not mean to." She said, as she leaned back against the siding of the wagon. "You don't mind if I stay here for a while?" she asked as she let her legs slide out in front of her. Finn shook her head.  
  
"Not at all. It makes me feel all the more safe." She said, trying to show appraisal for Guinevere. After having overheard her conversation with Lancelot, she found that Guinevere wasn't so much a villain as she was torn between two men.  
  
Guinevere nodded and proceeded to look out at the countryside as the wagon bounced along the rough terrain, toward the main road. Finn watched her closely for a long while before she began speaking again.  
  
"Arthur is angry with you." It wasn't a question. Guinevere did not look back at Finn, only nodded, looking sadly out at the wooded area. "It will not last." This drew in Guinevere's attention, and she turned to the fairer of the two girls. "I've spoken with him. And he does love you very much."  
  
"It isn't as simple as that." The darker girl retorted. Finn shrugged.  
  
"Love is always simple. Unlike life it isn't complicated. When one person falls, the other is there to pick them back up, no matter what. That is what true love is." She said cryptically. She didn't know how qualified she was to be handing out advice, but she felt that she'd given the right sort.  
  
"Thank you." Guinevere said quietly. Finn nodded. "You seem… to be taking this all rather gracefully." Guinevere added, testing the water so to speak. Finn shook her head.  
  
"Make no mistake Guinevere, I won't settle for just half his heart." She said, knowing exactly what she was inquiring after. "I do love him, but one day he will simply have to choose. Perhaps not today, or even tomorrow. But one day he must choose."  
  
Guinevere nodded. "And so will you." Finn added as an after thought. "We will not be around forever." She said implying Arthur and herself. "And if you wait too long…we may be gone before you can catch us." For a long while, Guinevere was left in a deafening silence, and it was then she realized that she could in fact lose Arthur for eternity.  
  
"Then my choice has already been made," Guinevere said, "and I believe Lancelot has too." For the next few hours, the girls stayed silent, enjoying the easy peace that passed between them as they sat in the rocking caravan, watching the world pass them by. 


	10. An Alliance

Hey guys! Sorry for the abnormally long delay! I've been vacationing in Newfoundland (the Mother Ship as I call it) and half of this chapter I left at home. But here it is, posted and all, and hopefully it doesn't suck. I can only wish…   
  
One reader (Dazzler, you opinionated rascal) requested I make Finn at least SOMEWHAT good in battle…so read on to find out whether I've turned her Amazon and kicks some serious booty or I've made her as good with a sword as me (and I'd probably knock myself out before I so much as nicked the other fighter)…   
  
So any of you kids think I'm rushing the Lancelot-Finn romance? I don't wanna make this go too fast. Any opinions (and loooong reviews) are more than WELCOME! But FYI this story will not surpass 15 chapters… so let's make em count!  
Hats off, Mickey  
  
A disgruntled snore reached Finn's ears, and she broke from her dreamy state, her head lolling to the side to see the Woad who had been steering their wagon toss in his sleep. He'd not been feeling well, so Guinevere had taken over for him.  
  
Finn peered back out through the hitch in the coverlet, watching the pale snow begin to fall over the green trees. It was a beautiful sight. One she'd come to love as a little girl. She inhaled deeply and swore she could smell the roasted nuts that cooked over the fire while she and her fellow villagers sat around it and complained about the snow. She never once did. Never once…  
  
The caravan jerked forward as it hit a bumpy patch of the rough road and Finn heard the Woad gag. Poor man. He obviously wasn't used to the travel.  
  
But the wagon slowed to a stop, which made Finn frown as she surveyed the wilderness outside. They were still many miles away from the village, and the cold gray sky hadn't even begun to darken. Why weren't they moving?  
  
Finn swept her blanket off of her knees, half tossing it toward the sick warrior, before she crawled across to the front of the wagon, where Guinevere was perched. She sat stalk still, and Finn felt an eerie sense of wariness wash over her as she slowed her approach to her friend.  
  
"Guinevere," she whispered as her green eyes slowly passed over the road, which was empty of the knights who should have been riding ahead, "what is wrong?" The cold wind blew flecks of snow in through the opening and she squinted against the stinging pain in her eyes. "Guinevere-"  
  
The Woad princess swiftly raised two fingers to the other girl's lips, but did not make any move to turn. The two stood very still, and all became very quiet as the wind quieted. The only sound heard in the deafening silence was that of Finn's rapid heartbeat. She wanted to ask, why? Why were they stopped? And where were the knights and the rest of the traveling party?  
  
A twig snapped, and Finn's breath caught as her head whipped to the side. Nothing was there, only a thicket of trees and shrubs. More sounds of crackling branches made Finn's stomach turn and she wanted to wretch with all the anxiety that was attacking her. The trees groaned and whispered as the wind blew through them, once again attacking with penetrating cold.  
  
Quick as a flash, Finn heard something whistle past her and hit the framework of the wagon. She had only enough time to turn to see that it was an armor piercing, before Guinevere pushed her back into the wagon. Just as the Woad princess had dove from the seat of the wagon, at least five more armor piercings were launched into the wooden seating. Finn's heart jumped up into her throat as she slowly slid back along the wagon. Soon, as quick as rain, more thuds sounded against the side of the wagon, as thick arrow tips dented the heavy wooden siding.  
  
The Woad warrior who'd been asleep was now fully awake and grinning, almost insanely, as he groped at his bow and arrows. He jumped through the front flap, a battle cry at his lips. He'd barely strewn the arrow across the bow when two arrows plunged deep into his chest.  
  
Finn watched all this horrified, as the Woad disappeared from view, falling away, before she pulled at the loosened end of the coverlet and prepared to jump out. She hesitated for a moment, looking down at the dulled weapons lying on the floor of the wagon, wondering exactly what was going to happen next…  
Suddenly a scream – not one of terror or anguish, but a battle cry – erupted from the road. It was clearly Guinevere, her voice raised in preparation for battle. Lancelot's eyes shot to Arthur, who was frozen for only a moment before he threw down the large wooden bucket he'd been holding up to his horse's mouth.  
"Guinevere!" he shouted, one hand already to the hilt of his sword, as he ran toward the wagon. Gawain followed suit, grabbing his ax from his horse's saddle.  
"Now this is more like it! Some real knight's work!" Bors bellowed. Gawain grinned as he chased after their leader, Galahad hot on his heels. The Woad warriors did the same, looking as exhilarated as the knights by the sudden prospect of fighting.  
Bors beamed as he tied his horse to a nearby tree. "What are you waiting for lad?" he aimed at Lancelot, who stood steadfast by his steed, the animal continuing to drink greedily from its bucket.  
"There is no need for all of us to go." Lancelot replied, not even looking up from the pail. Bors' smile faded slightly.  
"Well the wagon'll have been pillaged by now." He said logically. "S'pose there isn't much use for you an' your sissy swords anyway." It was then that Lancelot felt ice trickle down his spine and his legs grew numb. The wagons… Finn… Before Bors could manage a chuckle, the water from the bucket had already begun to seep onto the forest floor. Lancelot sprinted as quickly as his legs would carry him and his heavy armor, toward the wagon. Cries erupted from the beaten road, and as Lancelot came upon it, a small battle scene was playing before him. There were probably three dozen Rogue Woads attacking from the Northern forest.  
Arthur was in heated combat with a large Woad; probably a Rogue leader judging by the thick blue bands around his neck. Galahad and Gawain were double teaming all who found their way into their paths. Guinevere was fighting along side them, a wound gushing blood from her calf. She didn't seem to notice. The three or four Woad warriors they'd had escorting them were proving to be as good as they'd been acclaimed to be. The sound of metal clashing and ringing filled the once silent air. But all that Lancelot could hear was the fast drumming of his heart.  
"FINN!" he called out desperately. A rogue caught sight of him then, and grinned toothily as he charged recklessly toward the currently unarmed knight. As he raised his long dagger to strike, Lancelot's arms shot back to lift his own weapons. But suddenly the Woad faltered and a long, unusually heavy sword protruded from his chest. He fell as Bors pulled it gruffly from his heart. "You're an idiot, you know." He referred to his unprepared friend as he walked past Lancelot and calmly into the raging conflict in the road. Lancelot disregarded him, his twin swords now out in the open if he needed them. Galahad was shouting his ridiculous number of kills to Gawain, who was laughing at the younger as he slashed away at a new enemy. Lancelot swept past them quickly, dashed forward to the wagon and pulled back the coverlet. It was empty. He moved to walk to the front when his foot hit something. He looked down, almost afraid of what he might see. It was the wagon driver, cold and dead, blood caking his lips.  
"Finn!" his voice rang out again, a new sense of urgency in his tone. "Finn, where the bloody hell are you?!" There was a thud as an armor piercing hit the wagon, a few inches to his right. Lancelot turned to see one of the Rogues, furiously trying to reload his crossbow. Lancelot lifted his swords, about to end the Woad's life, when an arrow landed firmly in his neck. He began to sputter as he groped at his neck, trying to pull the arrow from it. He tugged at it lamely before he fell to his knees, eyes glazed in a deathly stare, before he fell to the ground lifeless.  
Lancelot turned to see Finn standing at the outside of the fighting, Guinevere's bow in her hand. She stared at the dead Woad, and Lancelot thought that for a moment she might cry. Her face was ghostly pale, she had a small cut along the side of her brow and her eyes were large and rounded as she stared at what he supposed was her first kill. But no time for that. The waged battle was still afoot, and Lancelot was not about to let the twit get herself killed.  
He hastened to her side, and grabbed her arm, pulling her to the wagon. He shoved her onto the edge of it and kissed her roughly, before he turned and sped to Arthur's side. He'd severely wounded the leader, who limped as they circled each other. Lancelot came to Arthur's side, but when his friend and king looked into his eyes, he knew that no one else was to touch Arthur's enemy.  
So Lancelot turned in time to see another Rogue bearing down on him. He easily cut him down, his sword slashing the young Woad's side and instantly killing him. He fought through Rogue after Rogue, each proving to be an easy kill. Then came a woman Woad who was to face him. She had wild locks of ginger, and an insane face with clear blue eyes that radiated madness. She was chuckling to herself as she took on an offensive stance, ready to attack him.  
He was careless. He was cocky and stupid enough to allow a woman the advantage of an easy defense. He deflected her sword only to receive a hard punch in the jaw. He stumbled backwards, but she had not relented and was delivering another solid knock to the side of his face. This time when he fell backwards, he saw that she'd welded hard metal to her knuckles.  
She stood in front of him, that wicked smile still spread across her face. But a dull cry directed both their attentions toward four Woads, three of whom lay lifeless on the ground, the fourth crying out as two arrows stuck out of his thigh. Finn stood at the side of the wagon, bowstring pulled back far as she could muster, a determined look on her face.  
Lancelot was dumbstruck, as were Galahad and Bors who momentarily watched in awe as she pulled another arrow by its quiver and laid it across the bow. Her posture was perfect and drawn back, and her movements elegant. It was enough to almost get Galahad killed when a Woad took advantage of his preoccupied attention. But not all were so surprised and Lancelot's assailant was the first to recover from the shock. After Finn's arrow was released and embedded itself in the crying Woad's torso, the crazed woman ran toward her, sword raised high.  
Finn did not have time to restring her bow. She knew it, as did everyone who watched her attacker dart toward her. Finn bit her lip as she let the bow fall to the ground, and unsheathed the sword she'd had ready. She'd never even held a real sword before that moment. This was it. This was how she was meant to die.  
Oddly enough. She found she didn't mind.  
Lancelot spat blood onto the small, once white patch of snow next to him, before he hastened to his feet. The never ending legion of Rogues continued their attacks, tedious to Lancelot as he fought his way toward Finn. His mind was clouded, and all he wanted was to reach her before she was killed. The fool, why didn't she stay in the wagon? Why didn't she hide in safety, instead of involving herself in all this? Because she's Finn, a voice in the back of his head said. Ah yes. Because she was Finn.  
The butt of a sword knocked into the back of his head and he fell to the ground, his forehead hitting rock and incising it deeply. One of the other knights must have come to his rescue, because the assailant soon dropped down dead at Lancelot's side. His vision was shaken, and his forehead stung as he touched his bloodied hand to his new cut. Must save Finn.  
It was all he could think as he shakily hoisted himself up yet again, stumbled forward a few feet, before standing erect. His vision slid in and out of focus before it finally returned to normal. And by then Finn lay in the freshly fallen snow, a small pool of blood at her side. "Finn!" he croaked, running to her side and falling at her feet. He inched up so that he was beside her. He looked at her fresh wound, a long gash at her hip. It was not as deep as it seemed, but to Lancelot, it was the worst wound he'd ever witnessed. Blood trickled down her side and onto the red snow. "Finn…" he choked as she stared up at him. Her face was expressionless, as she watched his face contort in pain. A deep pain in his own chest. "I was meant to take care of you…" he rasped, as his hand clutched at her shoulder. He moved astride her and began cradling her head, his forehead against hers. So many times he'd been in battle and never considered that his own demise could be nearby. And here she'd been fighting to protect others and fate had felled her. He kissed her dry lips chastely before he leaned back to take in her countenance.  
Still she did not move, but her eyes slid to over his shoulder. Lancelot's breath was torn from him as he felt rough fabric curl around his throat and pull tight. The crazed woman breathed heavily in his ear, laughter at her lips as she strangled him with a sack from the caravan. His eyes bulged as he gripped the woman's hands, and choked. They stumbled back, the woman now on his back, jeering in Gaelic to his ear. Finally he fell to the ground, the woman smiling in victory as he lay down in the snow.  
Then the pressure eased. He stared up at the ginger haired Woad, as her smile softened and her eyes grew far off. Suddenly she slumped forward and fell heavily onto his chest. He pushed her off of himself and threw the sack with her. His hand went to his throat as he gasped for air. Guinevere stood in front of him, still for a moment. They stared into each others eyes. Their pact was done. He'd saved her life. She'd returned the favor. The Rogue party was depleted. Their leader was dead, and few had managed to flee. The road was littered with their corpses. Their party had only lost the wagon driver and one Woad warrior. They'd managed well.  
Guinevere helped Lancelot to his feet and he gave her a slight nod to signify his thanks. He then turned to see Galahad and Gawain hobbling towards them; Finn's arms slung over either of their shoulders, a white sheet tied firmly into her side. She was alive.  
Lancelot rushed forward, and everything became blurry as relief flooded him. Then he felt her fall into him.  
Finn smiled as her head fell against his shoulder. He inhaled deeply as he gripped her tightly, and that familiar smell made him sigh inwardly. He stroked her hair which had grown damp from the snow, brimming with happiness that she had survived.  
"Tell me," Arthur barked, and everyone's attention turned to him, "where did you get this?" he threw one of the Saxon crossbows onto the ground in front of a Woad warrior who had survived. She stared at his feet defiantly, her brown eyes hard and resolute. "Tell me!" Arthur ordered as he raised Excalibur to her throat. This drew her attention and her eyes rose, a twinkle of fear evident in them.  
"Saxon." She said harshly.  
"They gave this to you?" Arthur clarified. She nodded stiffly. "You've reached a truce with them?" he asked. It was the worst possible situation. A truce between Rogue Woads and Saxons.  
"Truce." She repeated and a slight smile crept across her fair face. Arthur's features hardened and the small smile faded instantly. She raised her chin, ready to die, and the scene reminded Lancelot of a similar one from long ago. Arthur shook his head and turned his back on her. Just as he knew he would.  
"What does this mean?" Galahad asked as he eyed the young Woad with distrust. She shook her raven locks and glared back at him. "Will they try and attack the Wall?" "Let me speak with her." Guinevere said, staring at the Woad with disdain. "I'll be able to get more from her." Arthur paused a moment, as he stared at his wife. She knew what he was thinking and her eyes hardened. "You may continue to be angry with me," she said, her voice pained, "but let me do this." All was quiet as everyone watched the two stare unblinkingly at each other. After a long moment Arthur nodded and Guinevere walked to the Woad and began speaking rapid Gaelic to her. Arthur sighed gruffly as he dragged a hand through his matted hair.  
"We should move on soon." Bors said as he sheathed his sword. "Before this place starts stinking." Arthur nodded.  
"We must bury the bodies." Galahad said in between breaths, looking to the Woad warrior and the wagon driver. Arthur nodded, and Galahad and one of the other warriors set about their work.  
"Mount up. We leave as soon as possible." He said, his thoughts tormented with something other than the smell of rotting corpses. But only Lancelot seemed to notice as the others began to make their ways back to their horses. Arthur turned to Jols and began instructing the squire on saddling his horse properly, leaving Lancelot and Finn to stand on the side of the road alone.  
Lancelot looked down onto the top of Finn's flaxen head, as she watched Guinevere. He could see sadness in her eyes; perhaps even pity. He hugged her even tighter and her eyes looked up into his own and she offered a weak smile.  
"My ass is killing me." She said quietly. Lancelot nodded and looked down at her side.  
"Is it unbearable?" he asked as he lightly stroked the patch of skin above the bandage. Her tunic had been torn from just below the curve of her chest, to her hip bone. She chuckled mirthlessly.  
"Utterly." She said simply. She winced when his hand circled too low, and he sighed deeply before he began to lead her toward the caravan.  
"I never knew you to be an archer." He said as he stroked her forearm soothingly. A small self satisfied smile spread across her face for a moment.  
"I'm better with one of the Sarmatian long bows." She said, now looking at the ground coyly. "Unfortunately it's the only bit of warfare I know. I'm a dunce as far as sword handling is concerned and forget combat." "It takes learning and experience." Lancelot said, and she eyed his twin swords that were firmly clamped to his back. "You'd do well as a fortress archer." "Nah. I'm no where near the skill of most. Your da began to teach me when I was around the age that you were when you were taken. He used to grumble about how the Romans would probably soon be eyeing the women for soldiering." Lancelot laughed gruffly.  
"Sounds like da." He said, a tone of nostalgia weaving through his voice. She studied him for a long time before she finally noticed his own injury.  
"Your head…" one of her small hands touched his cut lightly, and he flinched. He lightly batted her hand away.  
"I'm fine. It's not but a scratch." They approached the wagon's edge. "Trust you to throw yourself in harm's way for a girl." She said softly, and for a moment he thought back to the battle in which he'd almost died for Guinevere. He pushed that thought aside and focused his attention on her wound.  
"Is it tender?" he asked as he experimentally brushed her side again. She groaned and nodded.  
"Don't touch it." She whined and he exhaled deeply.  
"You know, it figures you would become injured before I could seduce you. It'll be a long time before I can ravage you now." She slapped him lightly in the chest as he gently began to ease her up into the wagon. She let out a little gasp of pain before she collapsed onto a pile of pelts.  
"Easy." He cooed as he hopped up and moved to her side. He brushed aside a stray hair from her face. Her eyes were dreamy, and he could tell she wanted to sleep. That it called to her. "Stay awake with me." If she fell into slumber, it was possible she'd never wake up. He took her hand and stroked it with his thumb.  
The coverlet rustled and one of the Woad warriors entered, and crept to her side. He began to unwind her bandaging, and to his surprise, Lancelot refused to look at her wound. He continued to stare down at her face as it displayed the pain she felt while the Woad applied healing herbs and redressed the gash.  
"You are so brave." He heard himself whisper in a tone of admiration. She chuckled tiredly as the clean bandage was wrapped.  
"You just want to get me into bed with you." She teased, but inwardly, something in her swelled with pride. He shook his head.  
"I speak true." He said softly. He paused and feigned a thoughtful expression. "Though, now that you mention-' "Finish that sentence, and I will be forced to inflict pain upon you." She deadpanned. He laughed lightly and raised his hand as if in defense.  
"So violent. I wonder how it is I've come to love such an abrasive woman." He said half-jokingly. She smiled warmly when he mentioned the word love and the air of playfulness dissolved instantly.  
"I love you too." She said softly, so much so he had to lean closer for her to repeat it. "I love you. I don't remember if I've told you. But I do." A grin spread over his angled face, his eyes sparkling with newly rekindled joy.  
"I know you do, my dear. I know." 


	11. Helpless Waiting

Hey guys! Updating again! This time I think I should probably give a little history lesson (since Sinmurgh really gave it to me about my poor studies).  
  
Firstly, I'm Canadian. I know what it is to be ignored by the world (I mean every one assumes we're the 51st state of America anyway) and I, by the way, do not know Joe who works at the office, and drives that dog sled team. Anyway, off of my own rant, I admit I know next to nothing about Sarmatia, Europe, or history in general. For the following…I am sorry.  
  
Okay, Sarmatia encompasses what is now Russia, Poland, Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia, and the Ukraine. Sarmatia was on the coast of the Baltic Sea, the Black Sea (thnx Sinmurgh) and the Sea of Azov. Now, in my story, I'm going to assume that Lancelot is from the part of Sarmatia that is now Poland. The Sarmatian people are documented as being nomadic…which will be part of my story eventually.  
  
So, I wasn't really running along these lines before, but now I'm on track. And I am sorry if I accidentally raped anyone's culture. I'm new to this sort of thing.  
  
As for Finn being called Finnabhair…I like the name so suck it up. No, just joking! Remember that they are not entirely sure of where she comes from. We'll assume that they gave her the name because they figured she was Celtic. Good? Okay then! BACK TO THE STORY!!!  
  
Hats Off, Micks x0x0  
  
(Ps. Hope you're still reading Sinmurgh, despite my crappy knowledge of Europe.)  
  
Finn watched lazily as the lantern swung from the ceiling, casting light in one direction and darkness in the other, before it swung like a pendulum back to the other side. The boat rocked against the crashing waves as they made their way toward Sarmatia on a large fishing boat they'd bartered from a kindly fisherman on the coast. He'd even offered to have a few of his men tend to the boat and deliver them to where they were going. Which left the knights with nothing to do but sit. That left nothing to distract them from the rolling waves. She felt sick as the sea dipped and pulled the boat every which way, and the only thing keeping her from retching was the fact that she hadn't eaten in three days.  
  
Unfortunately Gawain had not been so lucky and was currently emptying the contents of his stomach over the side of the boat. Galahad sat in the corner looking as queasy as she supposed she did, and Arthur had retired to his bed after becoming quite ill with sea sickness. The Woad warriors and Bors sat and played a game with pieces of coral and a board with carvings on it, all of them trying to ignore their growling stomachs. The only ones who seemed to be unaffected were Guinevere and Lancelot who sat out on the deck all day, conversing happily about nothing in particular.  
  
Finn sighed, and continued to sit and watch the lantern above. Her side had become slightly infected and it had been Lancelot's mission to not allow her from her bed until she'd fully recovered.  
  
She was becoming tired of staring at the wooden walls of the below deck, tired of trying to pretend that she didn't mind that he spent almost all his time with Guinevere top side. But each time she moved to get up, telling herself she would be fine, she'd topple back down, her side burning fiercely.  
  
She hated the sea. She remembered when she'd first ventured to Britain, she'd tried to avoid it with everything inside her. She'd braved passing Saxon country, just skirting their borders, braved every cutting wind and storming weather that the land threw down on her. When she'd come to the coast, and water blocked her path, she'd stowed away on a merchant vessel. But then she had had a full stomach and the vomit that spattered on the floor she'd sat on had set her mind against ever setting sail again.  
  
At least she was sitting in vomit this time.  
  
This time, they'd decided to sail straight for the coast of Sarmatia, which meant slipping under the noses of the Saxons, who owned the strait that they would use. Finn prayed to any god that would listen that they would pass undetected. Unharmed.  
  
Weeks and weeks passed aboard the ship. It was obvious that Arthur was not getting any better, and Guinevere had stopped spending all her time top side, flirting with Lancelot. That had been what they were doing. Though the touches were innocent, and the double entendres not intentional, they had fallen back into their old ways. Finn recounted that after the third week aboard the vessel, she'd crawled up the steps, past the knights who slept soundly as they were lulled by the rocking vessel, and glimpsed the two.  
  
She felt her side's pain slip away as her ribs began to close in around her heart. Lancelot's arm was around Guinevere, his cloak thrown around her. Finn wanted to hide away and close her eyes, pretend it was a dream, but her eyes were rooted to where they gazed.  
  
Later that night, when he came to hold her to him, she'd turned away. She pretended to be sleeping of course, but she offered her back to him none the less. He frowned a moment, before settling down next to her. This time he did not attempt to touch her.  
  
Another week passed and they'd not landed yet. They were passing through the end of the Saxon straits and Finn was overjoyed that there had been no need for a sea battle. She'd been eating little lately; Lancelot had been forcing her to. She'd only thrown up once, and to her surprise, and delight, Lancelot had held onto her as she retched over the side, not once flinching in disgust.  
  
Finally, the fifth week of their travels on board, they reached Sarmatian soil before the sun had even dawned. Finn didn't think that Gawain could have looked any happier; he began to kiss the ground and dance a jig. Arthur had smiled weakly as Galahad and Lancelot helped him to the shore, where they let him sit on the soil, let him relish the feel of ground beneath him. The sailors and Woads began to help Bors and Gawain assemble the wagon again, and the horses were led ashore, though they had been spooked badly by their weeks at sea.  
  
After the wagon was reassembled, half the day was gone, so Lancelot carried Finn off the ship, bundled in blankets and cloak, and placed her carefully inside the wagon.  
  
"We had best be heading off at a quick pace." Bors had belched out, his queasy feeling not yet gone.  
  
"It's good to be home." Finn had heard Galahad breathe, as he inhaled the salt air as if it was all he needed to identify home. Gawain clapped him on the back.  
  
"My home's a good piece from here, past those mountains and to the South-East." He said as he began to mount up. Galahad nodded.  
  
"I too belong further south of this place." He had agreed, and Finn abandoned listening to their conversation, which brought on feelings of nostalgia and home sickness. Bors and Guinevere managed to help Arthur into the wagon, and Guinevere whispered sweet words to him as he slept, before she moved to the front to drive the wagon.  
  
Lancelot returned with the sack of weapons they always kept in the wagon. He set them down then moved to her.  
  
"I will be just outside, riding with the others." He said soothingly. She looked away but his hand led her face back to his. She stared up at him and when he smiled, she found herself smiling back. He dropped a kiss to her forehead and she felt that sleep beckoned her. One last thought chased her to her dreams of Lancelot and happiness. They were almost home. 


	12. She Would

Nothing to say. Long LOOOOOOOONG chapter. So have snacks handy. Peace, Mickey.  
  
She was now experiencing the odd sensation of detachment; she couldn't feel a thing. She was numb inside. Questions buzzed through her head and made her feel dizzy and weak. What would happen when they reached the encampment? Would she stay? Or would she be asked to return with Lancelot and the knights? There was a part of her – the part that swelled with pride each time her home was mentioned – that wanted to return home for good. But when she thought of Lancelot riding into the distance, away from her, for a second time… her heart slowed with despair. If he asked her to stay with him, she would agree in a second. She'd throw away stability and her home and everything she'd ever known to be true to stay with that arrogant, charming fool. But what if he did not breathe a word? What if he silently handed her over to their people and left? What if all they'd said to each other had been true, but did not last the few days journey left until they reached their final destination?  
She flinched as the dull ache in her side returned and added to the pain she was experiencing in her chest. It constricted painfully as his face raced through her mind. A face she might not see again once the journey was over… .  
Arthur caressed the mane of his horse fondly before looking over his party. Galahad and two Woads were in a lively argument, though no real ill will passed between the three. Gawain was sharpening his ax, taking care to smooth every notch and dull patch. Bors was asleep and by the bonfire sat Guinevere, who looked fraught as she tossed dead twigs into the flames and tugged at the bandage around her thigh.  
Arthur made to step forward but caught himself before he'd moved more than an inch. He yearned to go to her, to soothe her wound, kiss her lips, murmur with their eyes. She was his wife, a most sacred bond. She was his moon and his sun and his stars. He lived for her, her elegance and regal presence, but her feral and uninhibited nature. He woke each day for her, her lush lips and bright eyes. He slept each night, and still she lived in his dreams. He wanted nothing more than to pull her to him and embrace her tightly and whisper that everything was alright.  
But deep down, he knew it was not.  
She'd taken care of him through his short bout of illness, but he could not harbor anything but contempt for her at the moment. Since that day, that day she'd realized he knew, he felt that her knowledge of such things meant they were real, and her begging for his forgiveness meant that he wasn't wrong.  
  
She would have his closest friend as well as him. And that thought pooled in his mind, even while he was delirious with sickness and she was above deck with him. With Lancelot. He would not deny that at times he hated Lancelot as much as he did Guinevere, but found it impossible to do anything but let his anger slip away. You are king, Merlin once said, because you carry the power of mercy every place you tread.  
  
Arthur thought it more a curse than power.  
  
"Go to her." Arthur turned abruptly at the sudden command to see Lancelot leaning against a narrow tree, hip jutted out, arms crossed. He looked to Arthur expectantly. "You obviously wish to, so go to her." Arthur was about to turn and do exactly that, but found his feet were rooted to the spot.  
"I cannot." He breathed out. "I cannot go to her, Lancelot. Not when a burden still rests on my soul." Lancelot rolled his eyes at his friend.  
"How is that burden to be resolved if you do not first speak with her?" he retorted logically. Arthur didn't move a muscle so he continued. "I fear that you are as pig headed when it comes to women as Bors." "I 'eard that." Came a gruff voice. Lancelot smirked.  
"She loved you." Arthur said quietly. Lancelot shook his head, his wavy curls bouncing slightly as he walked slowly to his friend.  
"Never. She loves you. She always has. It's always been you." He said clapping a hand on his shoulder. Arthur shook his head, and Lancelot sighed in soft aggravation.  
"You are a great leader Arthur, do you know why? You are not afraid to take advice from others when it is needed, and refuse it when it is not. You listen patiently and without prejudice and lead a country when it refuses to do anything but follow. Now you are faced with a hard decision; you must choose between forgiveness and vengeance. And it is a decision all your own to make." Arthur looked at his friend and the frown on his face told that for once he was not entirely sure that forgiveness was the right route to take. Lancelot watched as his head waged a battle with his heart.  
"Do you really wish to lose her?" "No." Arthur answered immediately. "I love her still." Turmoil was evident in his voice.  
"No man should ever have to lose the one he loves most." Lancelot said, and the pain rooted in his voice told Arthur that he was not the only one with problems.  
"Finnabhair." Arthur said looking at his friend with sympathy. Lancelot's features defined with anguish for a moment before he nodded. "What will she do when we reach your people?" It was the question that had plagued Lancelot all day. What would she do? Did she love him enough to return to the Wall with him, or would she stay with their people? He'd torn himself apart with thoughts of leaving her behind with their village, and then built himself back up with images of them, living at the Wall. He imagined their first child, a boy. He would be the spitting image of Lancelot, deep brown curly locks and tan skin, but he would have his mother's beautiful green eyes, and a smile all his own. Lancelot imagined what it would be to teach him to fight and read books and play games. He could see Finn hugging him closely, kissing his ruddy cheeks, her most precious little boy, because he was his. But suddenly he'd be tearing himself back down when faced with leaving her. Was he ready to wed? He did not think so. He had decided long ago he'd never wed. He'd always fancied himself to be the type of man to bed legions of women, have a few bastards, and die in battle. But now he really didn't know if that was exactly what he wanted. Did he want something more? He was slowly driving himself to insanity.  
"I do not know." He finally answered quietly. Arthur sighed.  
"Things are beyond complicated for us, aren't they old friend." He chuckled, though there was little mirth to be found in the laugh. Lancelot nodded solemnly. Arthur studied him a moment before a small smile graced his thin lips.  
"Go to her." He said, echoing his friend's own advice. "Ask her." Lancelot looked up into his friend's sea green eyes. And something shone in them brightly and with such strength. "I have seen her look at you. You have nothing to fear." One last clap on the shoulder and Arthur turned and slowly began to walk toward the fire. Lancelot watched him sit down beside Guinevere. He began to speak and he saw her eyes softening, her face tremble with the happiness that she could be forgiven.  
Perhaps he would go to her after all.  
Finn slid gingerly from the caravan. She'd been cooped up all day and night and was sick of the limitations her injury was causing her. It now only gave off a dull ache, rather than razor sharp stabs of pain. Perhaps a walk would do her good.  
She was ready to begin her walk to the camp, which was within sight. She could see Galahad and a Woad warrior comparing blades while another Woad looked on amusedly. And she could see the figures of Guinevere and Arthur sitting by the fire, looking into each other's eyes. Finn felt herself smile. All was as it should be.  
She heard a twig snap behind her and she turned swiftly. She couldn't see anyone because it was so dark, she couldn't see much but what was a few feet in front of her. She strained her eyes and peered out into the woods.  
"Who's there?" she asked, and it seemed quieter than she'd intended. She waited a few moments longer before someone came out of the darkness. The figure was tall, lean, and had a curly head of hair. She smiled softly and relaxed instantly. "You nearly scared me to death." She said raising a hand to her heart.  
He stayed silent but now he'd come close enough so that she could see his dark eyes twinkling by the light of the moon. He to her mutely, and reached a hand up to her face. He could feel the softness of her cheek on his rough calloused hands and he wondered if he should even touch her. She was much too good for him and his coarseness. He pulled away abruptly just as she was leaning further into his warm touch.  
"We're leaving tomorrow." He said, finally voicing the thing that had been tormenting them both. For a moment she was taken aback; frankly, he'd bashed her with the sudden change from romance to hard cold truth.  
"I know." She said almost angrily.  
"I will be sad to say goodbye." he said solemnly. She stared at him and suddenly her face was furious as hot tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.  
"What do you want from me?" she asked, her throat sticking together and making it hard for her to force the words out. "Do you want me to cry?" she asked as her lip trembled and she saw his face become horrified at what was happening. But before a single tear fell she'd turned her back on him. She wouldn't let him see.  
"No! No, I…" he trailed off. This wasn't going at all according to plan. For the first time in his memory, he was having difficulty with a woman. Perhaps that was because this particular one was special. This one, he really did care for. Lord knows he was never very good at expressing his true emotions to the ones who needed to hear them the most. "What I meant to say was…I do not wish to say goodbye." She swallowed the large lump in her throat and sniffed lightly as she turned back to face him. A few tears had fallen and she did not wipe them away. "I do not wish to either." She said quietly as she looked at him longingly. "Lancelot, I-" "Finnabhair!" they both turned at the gleeful voice calling her name. A young man, probably no older than seventeen, came bounding toward her with outstretched arms. Finn looked momentarily shocked and even confused. But dawning soon washed over her face and she grinned.  
"Avery!" she shouted in return. When he made to run to her and grab her, Lancelot stepped in the way. The boy froze for a moment, probably not understanding why he would come between the two of them. Fear flashed in his young eyes, and Finn could have smacked Lancelot.  
"She is wounded." Lancelot said bitterly, thinking that if there were a God above, he must be on a mission to ruin Lancelot's life. "Be gentle with her." That was all he said before he stepped aside and stalked back toward the camp. Finn stared after him and was about to call him back, when she felt two arms encircle her tenderly.  
"Finn… I can't believe you survived! We were so sure that you wouldn't have made it…" he spoke into her hair. Avery was quite tall and gangly, with dark blonde locks and sky blue eyes. When his mother had passed when he was only ten, Finn had taken on the role of his ward, to make sure he kept out of trouble.  
  
Avery's mother had been of Britain, his father a Sarmatian who'd brought a family home after coming home from the fighting. Sometimes Avery's mother would plait her hair and tell her of the lands of Britain. Some days she even ventured to say that Finn looked as though she belonged to those lands. And she believed her.  
"What are you doing so far from the village?" she asked when he finally let go. "I thought you were all on the Eastern side of the mountain." He nodded, as he rested his hands on his hips.  
"We migrated toward the west. A town on the coast is willing to accommodate us. But they fear a Saxon attack is close. A cavalry would be crucial, if you've succeeded in finding one." She nodded and he sighed. "Who have you brought?" he asked, almost skeptically.  
"Why, King Arthur of course. And his knights." She smiled kindly at his shell shocked expression. "So that was a knight!" he howled, clapping his hands before pushing back his long hair, laughing in disbelief. "Leave it to you to bring a King to our aid!" He clapped her on the shoulder and she winced. He didn't seem to notice as he gazed toward the fire where Lancelot had taken a seat opposite Arthur and Guinevere. "And who are they? Which one's Arthur?" he asked excitedly. Finn turned and pointed to where Arthur sat.  
"And that is his queen, Guinevere." She said when she saw his awestruck expression. He obviously thought that she was beautiful, like so many men did. "And that is Gawain, with the axe, Galahad, Lancelot, Bors-" "Wait, wait…Lancelot? As in…our Lancelot?" he asked as he squinted at the hunched back of the knight in question. Finn blushed, and nodded.  
"You can't have remembered him…you were a babe when he left." She said as she slowly began to guide him toward camp. He shook his head.  
"I've heard the tales. How he went to serve Rome. I thought he was dead, but he looks well enough to me. He is free now, is he not?" Finn nodded once more.  
"Where are you camped?" Finn asked as they passed Gawain, who scarcely looked up from his sharpening.  
"Only a few miles toward the East. I was chasing a horse that escaped its tether. I caught it just over by that underbrush. Next thing I know, I saw bright lights, and I thought perhaps it was a Saxon camp. I investigated and who do I find? No Saxons, but Arthur and his knights and you!" he still seemed astounded with the news that the King of the Britons had come to aid their village.  
  
The stories he'd heard, the bravado of which had been told of this one man had been told over and over by Andrzej who had returned from fighting not more than a few months ago. Finn chuckled at his boyish attitude. Avery really was a sweet boy.  
"Finnabhair." She turned to face Arthur, who was now standing, Guinevere on his arm. She smiled brightly at Finn who returned one of her own. "And who is this young lad?" he asked, as Avery puffed out his chest.  
"Arthur, this is Avery, a boy from our village." She made eye contact with Lancelot when she said this. It did not seem to relieve his sour face. "Avery, this is Arthur Castus, King of Briton." The two shook hands and Avery's cheeks grew dark at the idea of him shaking hands with a king.  
"It is good to meet you young Avery." He said. "How have you come to be so far from home?" he asked kindly. "I haven't come far at all." He answered as he straightened his shoulders. "We are camped not but a few miles from here, as we journey to the Coastal Town of Braig." Gawain's head perked up at the news, and Galahad and the Woads became quiet. Arthur's face became grave.  
"Braig…not a safe place. They are a port if I remember correctly." Avery nodded. "They are vulnerable to Saxon attacks. More so than your other village was." "They have suitable defenses…" he paused, not knowing what to call Arthur. "They are still situated in a weak area." Gawain said getting to his feet. Galahad nodded his agreement, and Avery looked as if he were under attack.  
"Saxons don't venture into Sarmatia often. There is only a large party that bothers us constantly. In fact, they are perhaps only forty or fifty Saxons. The others are Woads." His eyes drifted to the markings on the Woad warriors, who glared back at him as if daring him to speak poorly of them. Arthur heaved a heavy sigh.  
  
"Woads?" Bors barked incredulously. "Woads do not come this way. They don't often even venture south of the Hadrian's Wall." Avery frowned.  
  
"I tell you, there is large party of them, here in Sarmatia." He was adamant of his explanation.  
  
"Perhaps the escaping Saxons brought them home…" Gawain pondered aloud and everyone's demeanor turned suddenly dark and shadowed.  
"Then it is true what the woman said. They have formed an alliance with the Rogues." He said with heavy heart. Guinevere closed her eyes, her face evident with suppressed anger.  
"Merlin had always spoken of this danger. We never thought much of it, but I suppose we should have." She growled. "Rogues and Saxons would make for a merciless enemy. No man, woman or child would be safe." Arthur nodded, his face pensive, his fingers drumming against his wife's hand which clung to his arm.  
"And you are certain that it is this one bothersome party of Saxons that has made the alliance?" Bors barked at Avery, who visibly cringed at the roughness of the eldest knight. "Only them. We've come to see that we will eventually have to battle. There is no other way." Avery said this with a low voice, and to Finn's dismay, she could see the excitement in his eyes at the prospect of fighting.  
"We may just. No one will be safe." Arthur pondered aloud. Gawain and Bors perked up, each with a bloodthirsty grin spread across their faces. Galahad rolled his eyes, knowing full well there was no escape from yet another bloody battle. And Lancelot merely looked to Finn, who was making a conscious effort not to look to him. The last thing they needed was for her to break down in sobs. And she would if she looked at him at that moment. She would.  
"Very well then. Jols!" Arthur called out harshly. The squire stepped forward. "Ride back to the Wall and tell Merlin of our situation and send forth a small army to Braig." Jols nodded, his face set and determined, as he walked back to his horse. "And Jols," the squire turned, "hurry." Finn could feel the palpable tension. She forced a smile when all she felt like doing was hiding away in a dark corner and pretending that this had all been a bad dream. "Avery," she forced out, "would you be so kind as to show us to the camp?" He stared at her a few moments, still wrapped up in the severity of the situation with the Saxons, before he snapped out of his reverie.  
"Yes. Yes of course." He fumbled before walking into a thicket. He returned with a speckled brown horse. "Will you be riding with me?" he asked almost hopefully. He'd been taken with her ever since he'd become a young adult. She knew this, and gave him a kind smile before declining.  
"I believe I shall ride with one of the knights. You busy yourself with guiding us." She said, as she witnessed a rather deflated expression cross his face. He placed a foot in the stirrup of the saddle and hoisted himself onto the horse lazily.  
Bors had taken care of the fire, throwing earth onto it to extinguish it. Guinevere and Gawain assisted the Woads in packing up the caravan, and soon the knights were mounting their horses, relieved that they were soon to be met with hospitality. "Is it too much to expect you to ride with me?" Finn turned to see Lancelot leading his steed toward her and again that sense that he wasn't safe pooled in her stomach and made her feel unwell. She never the less swallowed her fears and smiled.  
"I wouldn't ride with anyone else." She really should have been riding in the caravan, so that the newly sewn stitches would not split in her side, but she needed to be held by him. She needed to show him she would always be his.  
A slight smile of satisfaction crossed his beautiful face, as he held out his hand to her. She carefully placed her foot in a stirrup and delicately tried to mount the horse. She nearly fell off, but Lancelot gripped her thigh and pushed her up. Once she was settled and had removed her foot from the stirrup, Lancelot climbed onto the horse, and she felt his arms wrap around her, and heard him inhale her smell.  
Her head fell back on his shoulder, and his trimmed beard tickled her neck, making her smile. Her head lolled to the side and she saw Avery looking at them. He was grinning like an idiot, and she felt the urge to throw her boot at him for openly staring at them. But suddenly he was turning and the knights began to follow him.  
"So, Lady Finn," Gawain said, a smirk flitting across his face, "does this mean I can no longer try to win your heart?" She laughed self consciously and felt Lancelot's grip tighten a bit more firmly around her middle.  
"I do not know, Sir Gawain." She played to his teasing. "You will have to ask Lancelot." Gawain snorted, as Lancelot made a rude face at him.  
"Well, I believe the tables have turned." He said grinning to himself, his blue eyes pale with playfulness. "I believe it will be I who spends the days at your woman's house, and you will wonder why it is that at the end of the day she seems so satisfied." Bors guffawed at the comment while Galahad snickered. Arthur merely rode in silence, a peaceful smile on his face, as Guinevere rested her cheek in between his shoulder blades. He held her hand which was spread across his chest, the two riding his white stallion like the royalty they were.  
Lancelot glared daggers at Gawain when Finn began to giggle. "Is that before or after I stab you repeatedly with my swords?" he asked almost mimicking Gawain's earlier reply. Arthur's laughter rang out, so infectious that even Lancelot himself began to chuckle. Avery smiled, taking in the easy comradely of the band of brothers. The Woad watched the exchange with fascination since they themselves rarely laughed so freely.  
Finn sighed contently when the laughter had finally died away and they rode in silence (except for Gawain and Galahad, who spurred each other on about whether Gawain could truly seduce Finn). Lancelot rode further ahead to escape the hooting of the two. "You are too damn beautiful for your own well being." He whispered in her ear, making her smile. "Men in Sarmatia must have been falling all over themselves for you." He had actually been wondering about that very subject, whether Alden had been the only one who sought her affections back home. Whether he would have competition when they soon arrived.  
She shook her head. "No, they were too busy chasing the looser girls about the village." She said letting her fingernails drag down his forearm in an innocent, but at the same time sensual movement. "Is that so?" Lancelot chortled.  
"It is. I've been saving myself for marriage." She knew it was a lie. She'd been saving it for no one but him.  
"Really?" he asked, and he knew that she was not being completely truthful. Though he also believed that no man had ever bedded her.  
"Mmmm." She murmured as she placed a kiss on his neck, before snuggling into his warmth. The gentle rhythmic swing of the horse was soothing and she had to fight to keep awake.  
"We are near." Avery's voice interrupted the silence, and she sat up now, lifting her head so that she could see soft firelight blaze beyond the trees. Lancelot could see the excitement in her eyes, as she began preening her garment – though it was ragged – and smoothed her unruly hair. His smile fell away. She was home. And yet he was not.  
They slowly made their way into the encampment. In the few months that had passed since the attack, they'd managed to accumulate a few wagons and horses. The fire blazed in the center of the camp, a few people were dancing to the music of a rapid fiddle. Some elders were smoking pipes, as children ran circles around them, chasing each other. A few of the local girls, Lancelot recognized from childhood. They stared at the knights – him in particular – with what he could easily identify as desire.  
Yet again he found himself clutching Finn a little closer. And his ego was pleased to feel her grip his hand possessively, and her other hand grasp his thigh tightly. "Avery!" a large, balding man cried out as he made his way toward the crowd that was forming around the knights. Avery jumped down from his horse and embraced the man. Lancelot followed suit, hopping down, before helping Finn to dismount. But even after she'd safely reached the ground, he kept hold of her.  
He would not deny he still enjoyed the chase of flirting. It made him drunk, the idea of having hordes of women. Finn kept him sober, fulfilled the part of him that made him lust after others. And the idea of hurting her definitely kept him from chasing skirts. But still he did not wish to chance his old habits coming back.  
"And… FINN!" the man shouted as he made toward them. Lancelot was again about to jump between the oncoming man and Finn to protect her from injury, but Finn gripped his hand behind her so that he would do no such thing. The man stopped in front of her on his own accord, his eyes making their way to Lancelot.  
His eyes seem to widen in recognition, as did a few others in the crowd. "Lancelot?" he asked hesitantly. He did not nod or answer, Lancelot just stood still and let the crowd adjust to him. But the man noticed Finn's smile, and his robust laughter rose again as he swept forward, grabbing Lancelot's free hand and shaking it vigorously. "This is a thoroughly pleasant surprise! Not one, but two of our citizens returned to us from the jaws of death!" His voice boomed and many were now trying to peer between heads to see the knight who'd finally returned.  
If Lancelot were a lesser man, he would have blushed with all this attention. Even Arthur was smirking as they all watched villager after villager come forward and shake his hand. Finn had stepped out of the way and come to stand in front of Galahad's horse, the two of them exchanging looks of amusement.  
"I'm Tomas," a thin man of perhaps fifty said, "you mighten't remember me, but I surely do remember you. You were quite the young trouble maker." He winked before a hearty red headed woman pushed him to the side and grabbed Lancelot and hugged him. He looked thoroughly shocked but laughed as best he could while she squeezed him hard.  
"Oh, wee Lancelot, I knew you'd not yet left us!" she said before letting go of him. She smiled kindly to him. "You remember me? Giertrude, your ma's friend?" she said looking to him expectantly. In truth he had no idea who she was but he smiled and nodded, before she slapped him harshly on the arm and moved aside, telling anyone who would listen, "There you go, you see, the lad remembers me!" "Hello Lancelot." A young woman said seductively, stepping forward. Finn could see that flirtatious grin spread across his face as Lavinia stepped forward, and jealousy swelled in her chest. But she felt a reassuring hand on her shoulder and turned to see Galahad shaking his head. She sighed and continued to look on as Lavinia brushed her sweetheart's arm and giggled. "Lavinia…you're looking very pretty." Was all he said, now aware that Finn was watching. She was more than that, thought Finn. She was gorgeous, with chestnut hair down to her waist and clear blue eyes that outshone even Gawain's. She was petite, not well endowed in terms of curves, but slender and beautiful. Finn had always been jealous of her looks. Always. If she had her say, she would have looked just as Lavinia did.  
Lavinia blushed attractively and looked at him appreciatively.  
"As have you." She said biting her lip, her eyes lingering on his hips. Finn had had enough.  
"Lavinia!" she said stepping forward, taking care not to stand too close to Lancelot. Lavinia turned and regarded her with disinterest but smiled politely all the same.  
"Finnabhair. It's lovely to see that you survived." She said, but her eyes went back to Lancelot. "Isn't it?" Avery said coming to her side and looking at Lavinia in the love sick way he reserved for many girls. "But it is even greater to see you again." Lavinia rolled her eyes and turned, before Avery began to trail after her.  
  
After all introductions were disposed of, and Arthur and the knights had been thoroughly welcomed to their humble camp, they were invited to stay for the two weeks they intended to stay in that area. They agreed, and the weathered warriors looked overjoyed at the prospect of being guests in a Sarmatian camp.  
  
Lancelot, however, had watched as Finn moved toward her friends, two older blokes and a young woman. They talked animatedly, and he felt cold seep inside of him when one of the males placed a possessive arm around her and she giggled at a story the other one was lively telling. It was then that it was all clear, no questions asked.  
  
She would stay. She was home.  
  
Later that night, as the wagon was rounded, and the chieftain, who was emphatic about his apology at the fact that they would all have to share a wagon, Lancelot settled on the floor of the wagon with a heavy sigh. He looked at his right boot, which had weakened in the toe, as Gawain snored loudly beside him.  
  
"Care for a little wine love…" he murmured in his sleep and his hand circled Lancelot's knee.  
  
"Oh shut up you barmy idiot." Lancelot said in disgust as he threw the hand off, and Gawain snorted before he rolled over in his sleep. Galahad was drifting off against a wall, as he watched some of the 'virtuous maidens' make their way past the wagon. Bors was asleep as well, unusually quiet, probably dreaming of Vanora and his bastards. The Woads had insisted upon sleeping outside, something they were used to. Arthur and Guinevere had been speaking with the Chieftain all night, and would probably be sleeping in a smaller wagon, all their own.  
  
As for Finn. She was still outside with her companions.  
  
Lancelot threw his boot into the corner and fell back against his cloak which he'd propped up to make a pillow for himself. In his heart he was not ready to give in, give up hope that she would find a way to still come home to him. That's when he smelled the sweet sent of pine and lilac…  
  
His eyes fell open and met green ones, staring down at him intently. She smiled, and he painfully returned it. He sat up, and surveyed her, kneeling on the floor, her hands neatly folded in her lap. She was the picture of serene, though he could see the excitement in her eyes.  
  
"Isn't it wonderful? It's so good to be home, I missed it here. And everyone was so kind about letting us stay, even Lavinia was pleasant. Chieftain Pias seems to favor you, wouldn't you say he's a great man?" she whispered, desperately wanting his approval. She didn't know why, but she felt that to validate that their village was indeed great, she needed him to say so. He nodded silently, and she felt her heart plummet. "You do not like it here."  
  
"No." he whispered as he scratched his head. He was vaguely aware he did not sound convinced. "No, it is a nice place. I miss the village I think, I do not remember its people as well as you." He was trying to speak the truth without injecting so much pain into his words. The pain he felt at the prospect of losing her.  
  
"Perhaps because you never came …" she abruptly stopped. She didn't wish to nag him, but she'd felt he was attacking and… she sighed. "I suppose I couldn't expect you to be overjoyed." He frowned. He knew what she'd wished to say and he felt himself bristle.  
"Well I am happy that you are so glad to be home for good." There was silence. There. He had said it.  
  
She stared at him, her mouth open slightly at the shock she'd felt at his words. She quickly shut it, and looked to the floorboards for strength. But wood could still break, and she found she could too. She nodded and fled the wagon, him hot on her trail.  
  
"We both knew it was going to come to this." He said reasonably, feeling anger well inside him at the way she was reacting. "Were you going to leave it until two weeks from now?" She turned to face him.  
  
"So you are going to leave again?" she asked hotly, her blood boiling, thunder in her ears. "You are going to ride off again, away from us?!"  
  
"It is of my choosing this time!" She stared at him for a few long moments before she cried out, burying her hands in her hair.  
  
"I cannot believe this!" she said, exasperation evident in her voice. "You say you love, will always care from me, but you turn around and tell me that we are moving separate ways!"  
  
"It is the truth!" he replied sternly. "You are in love with this place, these people. And I am not."  
  
"You were in love with me!" she shouted back. "Or so you said. And I am one of these people!"  
  
"And so you cannot leave! And I understand…but I am a knight. I am no longer the son of a retired warrior who can have every freedom the hills offer! I am a fighter and I must go back and do right by my king!" He explained furiously, hands clenched in fists. His voice quieted. "I am not one of you. I haven't been in nearly two decades. I do love you, but I know you love this place better."  
  
"You're an idiot!" she screamed, "You no not of what you are talking about! And if I can't convince you with truth that I love you more than life here, then perhaps you do not deserve my love after all!" With that she turned and sprinted away, toward the camp, and probably toward her friends. And he let her go.  
  
He loved her still. But all he could do was let her go. 


	13. Without

Okay, this chapter basically just sets up for the next one. Yes, I know, a little repetitive about the wondering what's going to happen, but trust me... the answer lies in younder 14th chapter! Hope ya'll enjoy!  
  
Stokes  
  
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll Finn sat at the campfire, her tears now dried from the heat that radiated from the flickering flame. How could he be so hurtful? How could he have said all those things before, of love and devotedness, and turned on her so suddenly? It really was a ridiculous fight when she thought of it. She should have begged him to take her with him, then there would've been no hesitation in his belief of her love for him.  
  
She heard giggling and the rustling of footsteps in shriveled leaves and snow and out of the corner of her eye, she saw three young ladies watching Lancelot as he stalked past them, a most sour look on his face. She bit her lip as her heart strings tugged. What if he truly did love her?  
  
But what if it had all been a ploy? Could it have been that he had previously only wanted to bed her, and thus said all those maddeningly sweet things to make her fall in love with him? It would explain why now he so suddenly wanted to brush her from his side. But somehow, as much as she tried to convince herself that this had been his plan all along…she had seen in his eyes his feelings had been true.  
  
Which left her to wonder what would happen when that day came.  
  
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll  
  
Lancelot bit into the stale bit of bread and ripped the mouthful from the loaf, as he stared intently at Finn. It had been a week since their argument, and he had avoided her with all the determination he could muster. He did not want to see her hurt, and hurt he did recognize in her eyes each time he retreated from the campfire. But it was best that they try and ease themselves into the idea of not being constantly together.  
  
He knew she still harbored feelings for him, but at the same time her hot glares that she shot at him made his own anger bubble to the surface, and soon they were back at the start, glaring at one another as if their quarrel were freshly fought.  
  
Finn was at the moment rocking a small boy on her knee, singing a low tune that only his ears and the young child were privileged enough to hear. Of course, he was straining to hear, eaves dropping some would say, but her voice was so sweet he could not help his intent ear.  
  
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll  
  
Baby sleep, Gently sleep,  
  
Life is long and love is deep,  
  
Time will be, sweet for thee  
  
All the world to see.  
  
Time to look about and know,  
  
Though the shadows come and go,  
  
How the breeze, stirs the trees,  
  
How the blossoms grow.  
  
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll  
  
Her voice trailed off as the toddler's head sagged on her shoulder, and a small smile tugged her lips into that lush crooked smile he'd secretly missed so deeply. He inwardly scolded himself. When had he become such a mush filled dope? Of course, he could charm the ladies and romance any woman, but his feelings were rarely if ever true. This thought sickened him.  
  
What if he was letting go the one thing that would most make him happy? He'd been told as a boy by his mother that for every man there is his fated woman, his mate, his match. One match? How could he be certain he was not about to leave his behind?  
  
She stood and hoisted the boy onto her hip, carrying him to what Lancelot supposed was his wagon, and laid him down. As she began to coax the small boots from his feet, Lancelot watched her face. No longer smiling down at the sweet little boy, her face was one of deep concentration and turmoil. He supposed she was thinking of him. He was the only one to ever bring pain to her pale pretty face.  
  
She was better without him. But was he better without her?  
  
For the next week he would watch her in secret, never missing a movement, never missing a frown or crease of brow. He watched her so often, he felt he knew her actions before she herself made them. He drank her in, everything. He needed something to remember on those nights he would spend alone at the Wall without her.  
  
Every move drove him to insanity and soon, he was not so sure his noble intention to leave her behind would remain intact.  
  
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll  
  
"And so, the dragon rears up and swallows the monk whole, 'cept one of his shoes left lying at the cave entrance." "That's not true Tomas…it's just a story!" "Hush your mouth, you old trout. You never let the truth get in the way of a good story!" Lancelot watched as Finn's eyes lit up and a laugh bubbled from her throat. He should have been laughing with her but instead he grimaced and drank even more deeply from the wooden goblet he clutched tightly in his hand. He watched her, his eyes never leaving her, as she watched the old couple bicker comically. She was smiling widely and the light from the open flames bathed her marble complexion in gold making her seem like a goddess. She tugged the loosely weaved shawl around her and though not an inch of bare flesh was visible, he'd never found her more desirable. Tonight might be their last together. And that thought lit a flame in the pit of his stomach that he knew he could not extinguish.  
"He's watchin' you again love." Tomas said as he sipped his tea gingerly. Finn blinked and looked over to the knights who were playing bar games with the local boys, throwing knives and drinking heartily. There stood Lancelot and he did not even attempt to hide the fact that he was watching her openly. It made her face burn and she held his gaze for a few moments before she looked away. It was easy to identify the heated look in his deep eyes…the one he'd held at bay while her side healed. The one she herself had been hiding away.  
"It's lovely." Gierty sighed wistfully. Then suddenly she hit Tomas in the gut, making him sputter his tea. "Why don't you ever look at me that way?" she scolded. Tomas merely raised an eyebrow.  
"Probably cause you're large as a cow and whiny as a fiddle." He said under his breath. But as he looked up he realized he'd been heard and smiled charmingly. "Give us a kiss, my love." He said as he leaned forward only to be awarded a sharp smack in the mouth. "Oy, I bet your man doesn't get slapped about like this." He said motioning to Gierty who glared at him with deadly intention. Finn grimaced and played with the hem of the shawl.  
"He's not my man." She said quietly, her face now gloomy. Gierty and Tomas stared empathetically at the young girl.  
"Surely a lady like yourself has been proposed to..?" Gierty said as she cast a sideways glance at the knight who continued to watch her adoringly. Finn let out a laugh under her breath before she tossed her hair over her shoulder. She hadn't told anyone of Alden's proposal, as he'd left the day he'd asked, and she wasn't sure of her answer.  
"Not by the man I want…" she trailed off, as she felt her stomach lurch. Lancelot was leaving tomorrow. And still he'd said nothing about her leaving with them.  
"You know lass," Tomas said, drawing her gaze up to him, "sometimes a man needs a bit of helping. They can't all be as romantically intelligent as me." Gierty snorted at that, and didn't do a thing to try and contain her fit of giggles. "What are you laughin' at woman?" "Yes you really were charming." She said in between chuckles. "You saw me, wanted me and ten years later you got me." "The bloody cheek of it." Tomas grumbled.  
"Yes, indeed, he certainly was an idiot when it came to romancing me." Gierty chuckled. He growled before pouncing on her and the two started giggling and laughing. Finn smiled before standing and leaving them to their business. She had much to think about and somehow she thought that Tomas and Gierty would be too distracting.  
She wandered into the woods, no longer afraid of the darkness there. She was home and the darkness here was familiar and safe. In her mind at least. She trailed her hand along the trees as she passed them, kicking the snow with her boots, and looked up at the large full moon. The wind blew softly so that the few leaves left on the trees fluttered and floated to the ground, tossing in the breeze. She'd always been in love with the woods and its romantic atmosphere.  
She came to the wagon which was abandoned for the night as the traveling party had furious fun with the local Sarmatians. She touched one of the holes left by an armor piercing. It seemed like forever since that day. It had been three weeks, but still, she could remember it as if it were a few hours before.  
She really should have hid in safety in the wagon. But when she'd seen Lancelot in danger, there was no real choice between her safety and his life.  
She sighed and gripped the siding of the wagon as she hoisted herself up, unaware of a silhouetted figure coming out of the pitch blackness. She gently tugged the ribbon from her hair so that it fell down onto her shoulders lightly. She sighed as she pushed back the blankets and began to pull at the bindings of her dress. When it fell away, she let it drop down to her feet and kicked it into a corner. She stood naked except for the light brown slip that hung just to mid-thigh.  
The figure loomed at the edge of the wagon and watched her, her back turned to him. She sat down and pulled the blankets up to her and lay back against the pelts on the floor 


	14. Lover's Moon

I have two prizes to award. One is to Gifted Empress for naming that tune in the last chapter. Yes, it was from the Village, I LOVE THAT MOVIE. Sigh, anyway, second shout out goes to sinbin05 who used her psychic abilities to tell that indeed this chapter would be Hard R. Like we're talking detailed people. So if you get squeamish, I suggest you move onto the next chapter. Everyone else, please don't hurt me. I've never written anything this... well... sinful before. So I'm hoping its good. Tell me if you like it! (HINT: Leave a loooong review. You have no idea how much i love long reviews.)  
  
And congrats to my two winners. And thanks to everyone who reviewed last chappie! (sinbin05, Gifted Empress, Camreyn... um, that's it.)  
  
x0x Stokes x0x  
  
Finn audibly yawned as she heard the front of the wagon creek and lower as someone climbed on. She sat up, thinking that maybe it was a Rogue or Saxon. She'd become paranoid since their last encounter, and since the stories of regular attacks. She reached for one of the dull weapons stored in the wagon, but it was too far across the floor for her to reach. She made to move toward it but then she saw the intruder. She was about to scream, when the figure stepped forward into a sliver of moonlight. It was Lancelot.  
  
'Lancelot…Are you trying to kill me?! You scared me!' she tried to sound angry, but really her heart was over flowing with happiness. She had wanted to talk to him…she really had. His forlorn looks at her at the camp fire had not been lost on her, but something inside her refused to let her go to him.  
  
'My apologies.' He mumbled as he shed his weathered cloak, dropping it to the ground and kicked it into a corner. She then watched him begin to pull his boots from his feet, leaving Finn to her thoughts for a few moments. Finn was glad that the nagging voice from early seemed to be gone, or it would have screamed at her to send him away. But really, Finn couldn't. She couldn't.  
  
After his boots had been discarded, he struck a match and lit a single candle that hung from the ceiling in a transparent pot. The flame was weak but offered enough light so that he could see her better. The moonlight itself doused her in a silver glow, while he was washed in soft golden light.  
  
'Come here.' She spoke quietly, reaching out a hand to him. He moved forward, coming to kneel on the floor next to her, careful not to crowd her. It made her stomach swell and heart fall, that he was being cautious of their distance now. He gazed at her longingly, brushing a stray hair from her face. She leaned into his touch, marveling at how warm he was. 'I missed you so damn much.' She whispered. Lancelot felt his heart belt out an irregular rhythm, and seeing her like this, made him feel wanted.  
  
'Truly?' he asked, as if unsure. Finn looked at him for a moment, still not quite believing that he could be so uncertain. She then sat up and moved closer to him, placing a hand on either side of his face.  
  
'If I ever made you think otherwise, I am so sorry.' She said leaning her forehead against his, nuzzling him. That was all he could endure. His hands immediately went to her hips, and pulled her forward. He itched to touch her, her skin. He kissed her face everywhere, her cheeks, her eyes, her nose, her lips. She tasted of salt and wine. An odd mixture, but one he would never be tired of tasting.  
  
She sighed contentedly as she brought his hand to her outer thigh and he began to ease her slip up to expose more and more flesh. Finally she raised her arms and he lifted the interfering article up and flung it across the caravan. He sat back and looked at her, now that her chest was naked.  
  
In his eyes, she must have been created perfect. Her breasts were plump, and each was topped with a pink rosy nipple. He stared so intently upon them that Finn became nervous of his scrutiny, blush creeping all down her neck; she made to hide her breast from view, placing her hand on it. He looked up at her, and noticed she'd turned red. He gently took her wrist and led the hand away, before leaning forward and nuzzling it, as if showing that there was nothing wrong.  
  
She smiled as she laid back down on the floor. He stopped just above her breast and leaned down so that his curls tickled the sensitive skin. He looked up at her from under the curtain of brown, their eyes met, before he pressed his lips to her breast, kissing it, before allowing his tongue to dart out and lick it. She cried out, arching up into his hot mouth, as he suddenly decided to try to devour her.  
  
He wanted her to feel how much he loved her, wanted to show her physically just how much he ached for her. The coil inside her was already starting to tighten, and she felt her eyes squeeze shut at his ministrations. He began to suckle, to lave his tongue adoringly against her, spurred on by her breathy whimpers and calls. He felt her arching, and brought his large hands to her waist, holding her down and enjoying the look of lusty torment she so openly wore on her moonlit face.  
  
'God, Lancelot…stop, please, please stop…' she chanted under her breath. His lust clouded brain finally cleared and he lifted his head again to see her face as it contorted in pleasure. His heated breath assaulted her wet skin which did nothing to smother her need. 'I don't deserve this.' She murmured. Lancelot frowned before crawling up to give her a good long, passionate kiss, his tongue making its way into every crevice. He broke away for a second, both breathing erratically, his eyes taking hers captive.  
  
'You deserve more than I can give you.' He would not let her argue, as he knew she would. He swooped down on her lips again, leading her small hands to him. Her hands wandered up his shirt, and she pulled it up. It got tangled up, but after a bit of patience and laughter, it was over his head and on the floor with his coat.  
  
Finn rolled them over so that she on top of him. She ducked her head down and sucked hard on his exposed neck. Lancelot let out an audible groan, lifting his hips off the floor to come in contact with hers. They both moaned softly at the contact, and Finn quickly began to kiss her way up his jaw, behind his ear. She licked his earlobe, and began to trace the shell of his ear all the while her hands groped skin and muscle. She squeezed the juncture between his thigh and buttocks and felt him shake beneath her with suppressed passion.  
  
'So good…' he managed to mutter. 'Finn…' Finn silenced any words coming from his mouth when her hand brushed his erection lightly. This time the moan erupted from his throat as she slowly massaged him through the fabric of his pants. His volume only increased as she kissed a trail down his chest. He grabbed her hand and rolled her over so that he was on top of her, her legs either side of his waist. She grinned up like a Cheshire cat, her foot tracing lightly up his left calf.  
  
Her hands starting up at his shoulders before raking achingly slow down his entire body until they reached their destination.  
  
He shed his pants and climbed over top of her. He kicked them off, before his fingers slid down her body. Now they were both completely naked, lying together. Lancelot leaned down to kiss her again, but this time her tongue was the intruder, leisurely exploring his mouth.  
  
If either had been told the day that they'd met that they would've ended up in bed together, they probably would have regarded the person as a lunatic. But now they were so close. So damn close…  
  
'I love you.' Finn managed to say huskily. She tucked her foot behind his leg and then rolled them over so that she was on top of him once more.  
  
'And I love you.' He said nipping her shoulder. Suddenly, roughly, he grabbed her arms, bringing her forward, claiming her lips in a fiery kiss.  
  
'You're sure?' he asked as they broke apart, Finn breathing deeply, his musky scent surrounding her and effectively drugging her senses. She smiled at him leaning her forehead against his as she took his erection and guided it to her entrance. She placed a chaste kiss on his lips, before sinking down.  
  
She whimpered at the intensity of the feelings that over came her. Lancelot moaned low and long, her name, feeling for her in the darkness, needing to touch her and feel that this was really happening.  
  
She buried her head into his shoulder, and he felt her bite down on it, but it only served to intensify his feelings.  
  
'Oh God…' he felt her say, her hot breath on his skin as she gripped his sides. 'Lancelot…' she said as she experimentally rocked forward, causing him to growl low in his throat.  
  
Finally she lifted her body up, sliding him almost out of her, before she sank back down. But before they could even make a sound, she was up again and coming back down, to a set rhythm, rocking against him. He brushed her sensitive areas, which drove her crazy, to the point where she was bucking against him. Again experimentally, she clenched her inner muscles as she drove back down onto him. This time she heard a sharp intake of breath and she was suddenly being turned over, until Lancelot was hovering over her.  
  
He drove into her, hard, hitting her in just the right spot so that she screamed his name. Again he drove into her. He knew he was being a bit rough, he was banging into her hard and deep, but lord was it good. Over and over and over, but it was never enough, never quite enough. He felt her grip his ass, pulling him deeper into her, felt her labored breathing on his shoulder as he continued his fiery assault. The wagon was rocking slightly with the force of his every thrust until finally she cried out his name one last time before they climaxed. He seized up above her, becoming rigid, before collapsing against her, sweat glistening on both of them.  
  
They laid in silence for a few moments, listening to each other taking in long, slow, deep breaths. She was shaking in the aftermath of it all, trembling as she felt his heavy chest breathing erratically on top of her. He was heavy, but she welcomed the feeling of him lying so limply atop her, one of his hands brushing her side languidly. She raised his head from the crook of her neck, both still breathing hard, and she looked into his face as he looked back at her.  
  
'You're shaking.' He said slowly, raising one of his own giant hands and caressing her cheek softly. She licked her lips, and that small, inadvertent gesture poked at the embers of his lust. He leaned forward and touched his own tongue tentatively to her lips. When he pulled back he saw her eyes were wide.  
  
'Again?' she asked almost jokingly. 'So soon?' she was referring to the fact that already he'd begun to harden again. He grinned at her sheepishly, and she felt her heart melt at the way his fingers were lithely trailing up her sides again, now with new life. Then finally, a smile broke across her face. 'Let's do it again.'  
  
It was his turn to look shocked, but soon it fell away and his head lowered onto hers, her lips working passionately against his. But he kept it slow, letting her work through her passion before she too fell into the leisurely pace he'd set, and intended to keep for the rest of the night. 


	15. Hopes and Fears

I'm back! After what? two months? I'm terribly sorry everyone! I've just been backed up with a LOT of work. But then when I got really fed up waiting for other stories to progress - i realized i was guilty of the same crime. FORGIVE ME! Here, have another chapter. My way of saying sorry and all that! (And hopefully I'll earn a few more reviews...)  
  
x0x Mickey x0x  
  
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o  
  
"That was…amazing…" Finn gasped, her heart still drumming against her ribs. Lancelot grinned as he fell back against the pelts. His eyes were closed as he tried to savor the retreating waves of ecstasy. He only opened them again when he felt her nibble on his chin.  
"Leave me be woman, I'm tired…" he murmured. They'd just finished making love for the third time. After their leisure exploration, after he'd exploded and fallen away, she'd already been working away at building him back up. For her lack of inexperience, she made up for it by being unquenchable. He was left feeling sore, spent, and his muscles ached. But he was happy. Very happy indeed.  
  
She climbed up until she was nose to nose with him and her hair tickled the sides of his face. He opened his eyes and relished the sight of her face; the sweat softly glistening on her forehead, her flushed cheeks, her plump and bruised bottom lip which creased in the middle. "Was I terrible?" she asked sweetly, as her breast brushed over his chest. The heat was darting back south, for the forth time, and he groaned. Her insatiable appetite for him was proving to be exhausting. Enjoyable, but exhausting. Wonderfully, sinfully, excitingly enjoyable…but exhausting.  
"Awful." He ground out as she swayed above him and innocently kissed his throat. "Absolutely appalling. Worst ever." She smiled as he clutched her rear firmly in one place, to keep her from igniting his body again.  
"That's odd. Because you were incredible…all that practice really paid off." She joked. As soon as the words had left her mouth, he tensed and she instantly regretted her attempt at a jest. They lay in silence, her chin resting on his collarbone.  
"Not one of those girls compare to you." He said softly after the long pause. "No one does." She could have melted at his soft-spoken words, and she knew he was being truthful. The tone in his voice told everything, even more so than his words.  
  
In his mind, he knew he'd had better lovers; he'd had women who knew the male body better than some men knew it themselves. But she was among one of the best he'd ever bedded, and this time the difference was that he would give his life for her. He loved her so dearly, sometimes when he thought of it, it made his chest compress as if a huge weight had settled upon it. It truly was a new feeling, one that inspired fear but also one that encompassed him in warmth and happiness.  
  
And after so many battles, that was something you never wished to let go of.  
"I feel the same about you." She said raising her head so that they were looking into each other's eyes.  
"Then…perhaps, maybe…if you are not too set on staying here…" Finn smiled as his sentence dragged on, his eyes averted while he fumbled with his insecurities. "Perhaps you would accompany me back to the Wall and stay there…as my guest." She felt herself grin, and it spread over her face. She couldn't have held it back if she tried. Her finger trailed down his bare chest and she looked up at him for a moment. Finally her small porcelain-like hand came to rest on his large tanned and calloused one.  
"Alright." She said softly. "Then perhaps I will." Through the darkness she saw the bright white of his teeth as he matched her smile with one of his own.  
Without another word, she laid her head gently against his chest, and he drew the covers up a little higher over them. He toyed with a few of her wavy locks as they stared out at the starry sky, each of them filled with joy. Their dewy skin molded together and the light breeze cooled them as each recounted what had just happened. When he felt her even breathing against his chest and knew that she was asleep he continued to try and count the stars and mused about what had happened in little more than three months. To think that in that short time, they'd begun as friends, rapidly became amorous for each other, and now they lay in the wagon, after having made love – making love, not shagging – and she was to come home with him. His chest felt like it might explode.  
  
She did not want him to go to Braig. It was dangerous. Far too dangerous. She knew he could defend himself, she'd seen him wield his sword with as much skill and charm as he possessed over women. But in the back of her mind she knew that one day he'd be felled by an awe or arrow he hadn't seen coming.  
  
Her arms tightened over his chest, as thoughts of him lying in a muddy field, bloodied and dying with her name on his lips filled her head. Lancelot breathed deeply and she shut her eyes more tightly. She pushed the thoughts away, moisture gathering in the corner of her eyes. No, she would not think such things. Tonight she would sleep and dream of him in sweet delirium.  
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o   
  
When Lancelot woke early the next morning, his chest stung with morning cold. His dark eyes opened blearily as he groaned loudly, pushing his curls away from his face. He stretched languidly before sitting up. He reached for his trousers and his boots and quickly slipped them on before sliding to the edge of the wagon. He grabbed his shirt and hopped down, and began to make his way toward his wagon.  
  
He got many the appreciative stare as he passed a horde of young women, one of whom was Lavinia, whose eyes did not even try to hide the way they raked up and down his body. He pressed on, pulling his shirt over his head.  
  
He could hear Gawain laughing even before he could see the wagon. He had a bad feeling about this. He came closer and called inside.  
  
"And what is the cause of your merriment so early on such a bloody cold day." He asked almost hesitantly. Gawain's face poked round the corner, a huge grin on his face. Shortly afterward Galahad hopped down from the wagon, a face to match Gawain's.  
  
"And where exactly were you last night, dear Lancelot?" Gawain asked feigning genuine curiosity.  
  
"The cows needed milking." Lancelot replied smartly.  
  
"At midnight till dawn?" Gawain asked, grin still in place.  
  
"They were nocturnal cows." Lancelot shrugged. Galahad snorted.  
  
"Funny. I've never thought of Finn as a cow." He said. There was a moment of silence before laughter rang out, despite the glares Lancelot was delivering Galahad. Then he let out a sigh and a smile broke over his face.  
  
"How did you know?" he asked as he stared at the knights from under a cloud of dark hair.  
  
"Other than your idiot smile, it was quite hard to ignore the creaking of the wagon." Gawain chuckled. "When we investigated you'd made groves in the dirt so large we thought the whole wagon would sink and we'd never be able to move it again." That started the laughter again, although this time Lancelot chuckled as well.  
  
"What, pray tell is so amusing?" the three of them turned to see Finn standing before them, a cheeky smile on her face. She was wearing a pale green dress, and had a bucket of water resting on her hip.  
  
"Nothing my dear, just your lover boasting about how skilled you are in the sack." Gawain said slyly. Finn's eyebrows raised.  
  
"Really? And here I thought he'd called me a nocturnal cow…" Lancelot bit his lip and smiled apologetically while Galahad and Gawain tried to suppress another outburst of laughter.  
  
"Would you all be quiet?" Bors said groggily as he crawled to the edge of the wagon, looking as if he'd just risen from his sleep. "Some of us, while not engaged in fornication, did not get enough sleep." Finn blushed.  
  
"Lancelot, a word if you please." Arthur said, and everyone turned with shocked looks on their faces. How did he always manage to just appear out of the air?  
  
"Of course." He said quickly, relishing the fact that he could escape this most dangerous conversation. He followed their leader and as soon as he was out of sight, Gawain moved forward.  
  
"Now remember love, if Lancelot can't satisfy you, I'm just down the hall… and I'm well endowed." Gawain said with raised eyebrows, as he slipped his arm around her. Finn nearly choked on the port she'd been sipping. Bors snorted and Galahad bristled.  
  
"And what makes you think that she would turn to you, were she not fulfilled by Lancelot?" he asked as he puffed out his chest and pulled Finn away from Gawain and to his side. "The lady of course knows that it is I who was blessed with the most skill in the bedroom." Galahad said looking rather slyly. By now Finn's cheeks were so red; she looked like she could light tinder.  
  
"Excuse me, gents," Bors cut in, having perked up at this new challenge. He batted his eyes at Finn, taking on what he must have thought to be a demure look, "but I think that the woman would want a real man, in which case-" Finn clipped him in the ear before he could continue.  
  
"OW! Are you insane?!"  
  
"And what of Vanora? Hmmm… perhaps I should inform her of your advances…"  
  
"You know I was only joking!" They all howled with laughter as he stalked away, one hand massaging his pink ear. "Bloody hell, miles and miles away and that woman still chases off the ladies…"  
  
There was a pause as the remaining three smirked at his retreating backside.  
"Well now, Lady Finn, who will provide the pleasure? Gawain or myself?" Galahad asked as the two of them brushed her sides sensually. Finn was smiling nervously, inwardly wishing the earth would open up and swallow her up whole. But just as she opened her mouth to say something, Lancelot walked in casually. He glanced up and continued to make his way, but suddenly stopped and stared at the two men with their arms around Finn, whose flushed cheeks were now radiant with embarrassment.  
"Hands off my woman!" He growled, and Gawain and Galahad backed off, trying to hold back their laughter. Finn meanwhile looked utterly mortified as Lancelot stalked toward the two others, forcing them to flee. When he turned to her and grabbed her around her waist, hoisting her up so that she had to wrap her legs around his hips, she yelped with surprise. "Having your way with other men, are you? You nasty flirt!" He was now fighting to keep from smiling and she lightly smacked him for making her think he was seriously upset.  
"You didn't think you could keep me all to yourself?" she simpered, laying a kiss on his forehead as he carried her back toward the wagon. "You are a greedy boy…" He chuckled at that before leaning up and giving her a long kiss. He stumbled slightly, as she dragged her hands up and down his scalp, kissing him passionately while he tried to make it to the wagon without just falling down and making love to her in the grass. In front of the village no less. It wouldn't have been the first time a knight had… He finally swept the tarp of the wagon back and placed her on the edge, stopping their kissing for a moment so that he could unclasp her dress. But when she went to kiss him again, he'd suddenly stopped, as he stared toward their makeshift bed. Finn gave him a confused look before she followed his gaze, peered over her own shoulder and gasped.  
There sat Alden the other end of the wagon. And he didn't look at all pleased. 


End file.
